by M. C. Muir
Not wishing to rekindle memories of the time spent there, Mr Parry continued. ‘When Mrs Pilkington took the boy into her care, I believe the need was mutual.’
For a moment the pair considered the conundrum. The boy was proving to be a major aggravation but, at times, a minor inspiration. An enigma. ‘To which parts of the ship has the boy been sent?’
‘When he came aboard, he should have been entered as a powder monkey and sent to join the other ship’s boys in the magazine. However, from what I observed, he was too quick witted and inquisitive for that role and he would have gained nothing from being there.’
‘Probably a wise decision,’ Oliver said.
‘I was told that from the time he spent in and around the naval dockyard observing his father and the other wrights, he learned quickly and came to know every inch of a fighting ship from mast head to keelson and counter to transom. Despite his tender age, he possibly understands the structure of a ship better than many young midshipmen serving in today’s navy.’
‘I understand he is only ten years of age.’
Mr Parry nodded. ‘Is it not a fact, the names of sons from titled families are often entered on a ship’s books at an even younger age?’
‘Indeed, in order to register years of service yet those young gentlemen never actually step on the deck of a ship until several years later. It is a covert means of advancing a young man’s naval career,’ Oliver said cynically. Patronage and privilege were subjects that reignited the deep-seated grievances he had long held.
‘For the present, I have more to concern myself with than the comings and goings of a ship’s boy. What surprises me, however, is how one minor individual manages to have midshipmen, warrant officers and some senior officers running around in circles not knowing what to do with him? Surely it cannot be such a difficult task allocating him to some station. If he lacks discipline, a serve over the gun might teach him not to disobey orders?’
‘But he doesn’t disobey orders,’ Simon said defensively, ‘in fact, it is to the contrary. The problem with young Goodridge is his overabundance of enthusiasm and exuberance.’
Oliver recalled the boy’s antics in the rigging he had witnessed earlier. ‘If he is capable of carrying boiling pitch without splashing it across the deck, send him to work with the team of caulkers on the gun deck. Let them employ him as an oakum boy. Surely he cannot get too enthusiastic about that job.’
Mr Parry was non-committal.
The captain continued. ‘If he has spent time with his father in the shipyard, he should be familiar with that occupation. There is also the manger. I am told there are pigs to be fattened,’ he said cynically. ‘Alternatively, my steward can make use of him.’
‘I will attend to it personally.’
Oliver thought for a moment. ‘Don’t waste valuable time on the boy. I am considering sending him and the women over to the 74. That will solve the problem.’
CHAPTER 5
Charles Goodridge
Captain Quintrell jumped up from his desk and burst out of his cabin.
‘Casson! In Heaven’s name, what is all the shouting about?’
The answer came from a whippersnapper not much more than half the captain’s height. ‘It’s me, Captain. Charlie Goodridge. You said I was to give Mr Casson a hand. Well, I was trying to show him a better way to stack the preserves in the pantry but he wouldn’t hear me out.’
‘Casson, where are you?’ Oliver called.
‘I’m here, Captain,’ the steward replied, rising from his knees from within the open pantry and knocking his head in the process.
‘I do not know what is going on here,’ Oliver exclaimed, ‘but for goodness sake there is no need for either of you to raise your voices.’
Before the captain’s servant had time to open his mouth, the boy jumped in again. ‘I was just telling Mr Casson that if he did it like I said, it would save him time and he wouldn’t have to crawl on the floor to find things and he would know exactly where everything was.’
‘Young man,’ the captain said, ‘you will speak when you are spoken to or, within a very short time, you will find yourself scraping rust from a basket full of round shot in the magazine. I am sure Mr Casson is quite aware of the position of all the items in the panty as he put them there in the first place. Mr Casson has been acting as my steward for many years and I have no reason to question the way he conducts his duties.’
‘But my way would save time.’
‘Silence!’ Oliver cried.
The boy’s mouth snapped closed and remained tight shut. Casson glared at him, while returning all the jars, bottles and containers to the shelves, deliberately banging each one down as he thrust it back into place. Fortunately nothing broke.
‘You,’ Oliver said, addressing the boy. ‘Come with me.’
Young Goodridge did as he was bid and followed the captain into his cabin. When he reached the door he hung back until he was instructed to enter and stand upright with his hands at his sides.
‘So,’ Oliver pondered. ‘What is going to become of you?’
‘Beg pardon,’ the boy mumbled.
Oliver seated himself at the table and examined the boy whose name was bouncing off the ship’s bulwarks like an echo. ‘You appear to be observant. Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes, sir, of course I do. I keep my eyes and ears wide open and that way I don’t miss anything. That’s what my father taught me.’
‘I imagine your father was a good worker.’
‘Yes, sir. He was a shipwright in Gibraltar. He’d learned his trade at the Deptford yard.’
‘Is it your wish to be a wright like your father?’
‘No, sir,’ he said defiantly.
Oliver raised his eyebrows. ‘You surprise me. From what I hear, you appear to be preoccupied with fighting ships. What will you be then?’
‘I want to be an officer like you, sir.’
Oliver laughed. ‘Indeed. And how do you hope to achieve that? Certainly not by upsetting everyone around you as you are doing at the present.’
Dejected, the boy looked down and, for once, seemed lost for words.
‘I’m listening,’ Oliver said.
‘I don’t rightly know, sir. My father said I had a brain between my ears and that was the reason he sent me to the school in the colony. He said if I learnt well, I might make something of myself one day.’
‘Can you read?’ Oliver asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ Charles said. ‘In Gibraltar most folk spoke English and Spanish. The boys at school spoke both but not all could read and write both.’
‘Do you speak Spanish fluently?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said proudly. ‘My grandparents lived in Alicante. My mother was born Spain but lived most of her life in the colony. I speak Spanish like a local.’
‘Do you have any other languages?’
‘I can understand a bit of French but cannot write it.’
‘What else did you learn?’
‘History, arithmetic, geometry, grammar.’
‘Your father worked in the dockyard. Did he enjoy his work?’
‘Aye, he loved working with timber and I heard tell he was good at his job.’
‘I hear you spent your spare time in the yard when permitted.’
‘Aye, sir, I helped around the yard when I could – fetching and carrying, swinging off the end of a saw or bagging the shavings. I’ve been climbing around warships for as long as I can remember. My father used to say I was like a rat sniffing out every nook and cranny. I near drove him and his mates crazy forever asking questions, wanting to know what everything was for, where it belonged and how it was made. I learned a lot.’
‘Enough,’ the captain called. ‘On my ship, you must first learn to curb your tongue or it will hang you one of these days.’
The boy was puzzled.
‘Tell me, do you consider yourself a troublemaker?’
‘Me, sir? No, sir. Definitely not, sir.’
>
‘That is not what I am hearing from my officers. I have had reports from the bosun, the cooper and the ship’s master that you are an annoyance and, now, I can add my steward’s name to the list.’
A pair of large dark eyes looked up at the captain reminding him of a starving hound desperate for a lump of suet. ‘After considerable thought, I have decided what to do with you. You will not remain on board Perpetual.’
‘But Captain?’ the lad pleaded.
‘Listen to me, young man, for I will only say this once. I have decided to send you over to the 74 where, because of your age, you would be normally be entered as a ship’s boy. However, I must speak with Captain Liversedge first and ask what likelihood there is of your name being entered as servant to one of the midshipmen. If that is possible, you will perform whatever duties are demanded of you.’
Like a fish out of water, the boy’s mouth opened wide then abruptly closed again.
‘You will learn how to wash stockings, iron handkerchiefs, sew buttons on shirts, polish shoe buckles and press uniforms. These are all useful skills. Every morning, you will collect the midshipmen’s hammocks and take them on deck for airing. You will fetch and carry as required, deliver the young gentlemen their meals and clean up after them.’
Charles’s young brow furrowed.
‘Don’t worry, you will not be alone. There will be other boys to learn from. But remember, life aboard one of His Majesty’s vessels is not all fun and games, and you will not run willy-nilly about the ship as though it is your private nursery. If you disobey an order more than once you will find yourself kissing the gunner’s daughter. I trust you know what that means?’
Charles Goodridge nodded.
‘An early introduction, such as this, will give you an insight into what it is like serving in the Royal Navy. You will quickly discover that life in service is far removed from the unfettered freedom of scampering up ratlines and sliding down backstays on a fighting ship in dry dock. It is quite possible that by the time we reach England you will have had your fill of waiting on young gentlemen and will be content to act as an oakum boy aboard Perpetual. What say you?’
‘How do I become an officer?’ Charles replied.
Taken aback, Oliver shook his head. The boy was certainly persistent. ‘With much hard work and perseverance. Plus,’ he paused, ‘and herein lies a problem – ideally you require a parent or sponsor who can afford to outfit you with, not one set of clothes but, six or eight, along with a sea chest to store them in. And funds to furnish you with a personal store of private provisions sufficient to last for a year at sea, and also to provide you with a pocketful of spending money. Then, of course, you will require books, writing materials and nautical instruments. In most cases, it is highly desirable that you procure an introduction to an influential captain or admiral who, if not a relative, will take a liking to you and offer you a berth on his ship.’
The boy expression was glum. ‘My ma and pa are dead. Connie is my only friend and she doesn’t have any money.’
‘I understand that is the reason you are here.’
The lad nodded. ‘Will Connie go with me to the 74?’ he asked.
‘I presume you are referring to Mrs Pilkington,’ Oliver said, without answering the boy’s question. ‘How old are you?’
‘Almost eleven.’
‘Then if you truly wish to become an officer one day, now is the time to become independent and start behaving like a man.’
Charles Goodridge blinked and as quickly as his mood had sunk, it surfaced as his thoughts leapt ahead. ‘If the two ships are sailing together to England, perhaps I can visit Mrs P when we are in port.’
‘It is unlikely we will touch land until we make Portsmouth,’ Captain Quintrell said. ‘But, if we do, there will be no time for indulgences.’
The boy screwed his nose.
‘No time for social visits,’ Oliver explained. ‘Do you understand? However, there is no reason to prevent you from writing to her. I will even have my clerk supply you with a pen, paper and ink, and when you have written your letter ask the purser or midshipman to have it conveyed to her.’
The boy thanked the captain.
‘In the meantime, try not to annoy people with your excessive eagerness. Keep your nose clean and be ready to leave the frigate when the call comes. In the meantime, do not broadcast the details of our conversation. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Oliver looked the lad up and down. ‘Do you have dunnage? A change of clothing? Shoes?’
‘Some things but not much.’
‘Then I suggest if and when you go aboard the 74, you present yourself in clean and neat attire. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the boy said again, raising his right hand and knuckling his forehead in the manner of a seasoned foremast Jack.
‘You may go,’ the captain said and watched the boy trot out. Only then did he allow his lips to give way to the grin he had been withholding.
With a fresh breeze punching out its sails, the cutter completed the crossing between the two British ships in less than ten minutes. Though Oliver had many things to attend to on Perpetual, once on the water, albeit for a short time, he appreciated the wind on his face and the smell of brine. With the easy movement of the frigate’s largest boat on the bay, he looked forward to heading to sea.
After being piped aboard the third rate, and exchanging a brief greeting with Lieutenant Hazzlewood, Captain Quintrell was welcomed by William Liversedge and invited to join him in the great cabin. Though it was only a few days since he had sat at the captain’s table and opened his orders, the thoughts that flashed through Oliver’s mind were quite different to those he had experienced on his previous visit.
First he reflected that this expansive area was often occupied by an Admiral. No doubt in this very location, over the past two decades, senior officers had met, not only to eat and converse but to study the charts, to consider battle strategies and make important tactical decisions.
Then, for an instant, when casting his eyes across the full breadth of the warship’s stern, Oliver Quintrell considered how vulnerable this area was. Should an enemy sail under the ship’s stern and fire a full broadside at the cabin, iron shot would cannon straight through, pulverising anything or anyone in its path, smashing through bulwarks and delivering death and devastation to the deck beyond.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he returned to the usually pleasantries: the weather, the local conditions on Guanabara Bay, the provisioning of the ships and the deficiency in crew numbers. Oliver then took the opportunity to request an indulgence of his friend.
‘I realise you are shorthanded, William, and I know it is able seamen you require – not dead wood. However, I wish to beg a favour.’
‘I owe you for more than one favour considering what you have done for me in the past.’
‘You know me, William, I prefer to leave the past in the past. Let us concentrate on the present.’
The conversation was interrupted momentarily by the distant sound of eight bells ringing out from the 74’s belfry, then a series of peeps from the bosun’s whistle and a rumble of feet thumping along the companionways in response. Despite the ship being at anchor, the watches were maintained and there were still many chores to be attended to on a line-of-battle ship.
‘How can I be of help?’ Captain Liversedge asked.
‘Two matters,’ Oliver Quintrell said. ‘Against my better judgement, I allowed two females and a boy to embark the frigate in Gibraltar.’
‘Are these individuals of any particular significance or standing – the wives of dignitaries or high ranking naval officers, for example?’
‘Indeed, they are not. The younger of the females is the widow of a shipwright. The boy is an orphan and, though unrelated to her, has attached himself to her apron strings. The other woman is the wife of my carpenter.’
‘Would it not be more appropriate for the carpenter’s wif
e to remain with her husband?’
‘Perhaps. However,’ he paused, ‘I have no other females aboard and, more importantly, I have no suitable accommodation to house the pair. Presently their hammocks are slung in the carpenter’s workshop, which is totally unsuitable. What I ask is for them to be accommodated aboard Stalwart for the voyage to England. I can assure you they are both well-mannered and will cause no problems, and will perform whatever tasks are asked of them without objection or complaint. Let me add, when we were under attack from a privateer in the Atlantic, both women performed duties that surprised even me. If you can assist me in this matter, I will be most grateful.’ Oliver looked to his friend and continued. ‘Do you have women aboard?’
‘Three of my senior warrant officers are accompanied by their wives. These females also pose no problems and the crew are respectful of them. And the boy you mentioned?’ Captain Liversedge asked.
‘A rather bright young lad of ten or eleven years of age. He is surprisingly knowledgeable regarding the workings and construction of a ship having grown up on the dockyard in Gibraltar. He has aspirations to be an officer in Royal Navy one day.’
Captain Liversedge grinned. ‘A lofty ambition.’
Oliver’s expression was unchanged. ‘I believe he has the potential to follow his desires but not the wherewithal or background or connections.’
‘You would sponsor him yourself?’ Captain Liversedge queried.
‘You read me well, William. However, you are probably aware of my views on patronage and privilege in the Royal Navy. I have spoken out against that very subject on several occasions. My opinions have not changed, although I appear to be mellowing as the years progress. The fact is, I have no heir and it would give me satisfaction to watch a young man climb the ladder in the service, if he proved himself capable of it.’
‘So what are you asking of me? I think you would not want this young man to serve in the magazine as a powder monkey with the other ship’s boys.’
Oliver was quick to respond. ‘He lacks title, wealth and influence and would, therefore, have little chance of entering the service other than through the hawse hole. However, he is intelligent and possesses an ample degree of precocious confidence – a little too much at times – plus a remarkably intimate knowledge of the timber components of a ship and their workings. Presently these qualities are being wasted and, for the sake of his dead father, I would not like to see them extinguished. In my opinion, a spell as servant to one of your middies or young lieutenants would provide him with an insight into life aboard a ship of the line. That will give the lad quite a different picture of a fighting ship when compared to the bare decks and silent bulwarks of a ship in the dockyard.’
