by Carla Kelly
“Come in,” they heard and entered a room lined with books and papers stacked on benches and a window seat.
“That will be all, Mr. Wolf. Close the door behind you.”
“Aye, Headmaster Croker.”
The headmaster stood with his back to the door, staring out the window, hand behind his back, rocking on his heels. He was dressed in black like his students. A tall man, he seemed even taller because of leanness bordering on emaciation.
“Join me, gentlemen,” he said in a voice that carried.
Gervaise moved Sir B into position. Able clasped his hands behind him too, ready to admire the view as well. For all that his squadron frequently docked in Plymouth or Torquay, Able’s familiarity with Portsmouth stretched back to his earliest days in the fleet. He knew the harbor, with its broad anchorage, the narrow streets hazardous to a man’s health from too much grog, diseased whores, and cutpurses. Bustling, busy, raffish Pompey.
“Try the view from this window, Master Six,” the headmaster said. “I do enjoy a corner office.”
Able looked down at a surprisingly tidy expanse of grass, where boys dressed in black walked. They were orderly and neat, much as their little escort. A ship’s bell rang and the boys moved faster. Must be time for class.
Interested, he watched them hurry inside, then turned his attention to a silted-in, stone-lined retaining pond or tidal basin. A relic from earlier days, it must have been a sheltered spot for small boats to tie in, letting monks off at the monastery. Unused for years, perhaps centuries, it had been gathering garbage up to and perhaps including dead dogs, and maybe unwary mariners. It looked to be about eight feet deep, give or take a few inches. What I could do with that, he thought, as ideas scrolled through his mind and lodged there. The usual background noise in his skull grew louder, as though trying to jealously clamor for his attention.
The headmaster watched him with a slight smile. “Introduce yourself, young man.”
Able felt his face grown warm. You’re off to a good start for employment, dunce, he scolded himself. He bowed. “Sailing Master Able Six. I’m here about a job.”
To his surprise, the headmaster and Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony glanced at each other and laughed. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?”
Embarrassed, Able shook his head and felt himself transported years and miles back to Dumfries. “I beg your pardon, sir. That stone basin had my full attention.” And everything else in my brain, he added to himself, but you needn’t know that.
“I thought it might, Master Six. I wanted you to see it.” The headmaster returned Able’s bow with a nod. “I am Thaddeus Croker. Do have a seat.”
Able sat, feeling inadequate, out of his league, silly for making plans about a filthy pond when he was no more than a few shillings from complete poverty. Good God, and getting married in two weeks to a woman he could not live without. Both men were looking at him expectantly, but he had no idea what they wanted.
His equilibrium returned. He crossed his legs and leaned back, in control of himself again because he was a man with ideas. “I would clean that pond, sir, fill it to three feet of water and do two things right away.” He took a deep breath. “I doubt there is a boy in this school who can swim. They need to learn.”
“You know as well as I do, Master Six, that sailors are superstitious about learning to swim,” Sir B said. “Tempt the devil, eh?”
“I could care less, sir,” Able said, mincing not a single word. “They’ll be of more use to the fleet if they don’t drown on their first encounter with the enemy.” He stretched his legs out, comfortable with the conversation. “I recall swimming to a bomb kedge in Copenhagen with an auger. Two holes and down it went.”
“He did, Thad,” Sir B said, his smile broad. “Swims like a fish.”
“But we’re at peace,” the headmaster protested.
“Four months more, sir, give or take a little,” Able said decisively. “First Consul Bonaparte wants this world, but by God, we shan’t hand it to him on a silver salver. Not while I breathe.”
He spoke quietly. When he held her close and kissed Meridee yesterday, she had whispered in his ear for him to go all out and take no prisoners in Portsmouth. My keeper tells me so, he thought, and felt her calming influence.
“What is the other thing, Master Six? You mentioned two things,” Thaddeus Croker asked.
“It’s more than two, I reckon,” he continued, on terra firma now. “My lads and I would build small boats or platforms and sail them on that pond. It would be easy enough to ruffle the waters and see the effect of wind and current on a brisk day.”
“Upon my word, it sounds like play to me, Master Six,” Thaddeus Croker said.
“It is play,” Able replied, remembering in time to be patient with slower minds. “Physics and hydraulics are fun. We will learn to arrange ballast and cargo in our little boats. Later, I’ll add water to our inland sea until it’s eight feet deep. They’ll learn to swim with clothes and shoes on.” He smiled at the men watching him so intently. “You need to produce well-prepared sailors. That is my aim.”
“Mine, too.” Thaddeus Croker slapped his knees and stood up. “Come along. Let’s see how you teach.”
Chapter Five
“The students are housed in two large rooms,” Thaddeus Croker said as they moved along the corridor, “the younger in one room, the older in the other. We have twelve now in the upper grade and only nine left in the lower.”
“Why the difference, sir?” Able asked.
“An excellent reason,” the headmaster replied. “Since they have been here, those three were claimed by close relatives.”
“They are most fortunate, indeed,” Able replied, wondering at such good luck. In his years in Dumfries Workhouse, no one had ever claimed anyone. “And these remaining lads, do they have their own beds? Enough blankets?”
“They do. You’ve seen the uniform, Master Six. Much like yours,” Thaddeus said. “They are fed and warm.” He sighed. “They’re used to nothing, but some still languish.”
“Do they know you care about them?” Able asked.
“Too much caring might overwhelm them and produce an effect opposite from what we intend, in the school trying to turn wharf rats into masters,” the headmaster said, after evident thought.
Able stopped. “You can’t care for them too much, with all due respect.”
“Scholarly minds would argue with you, Master Six,” the headmaster said.
“They are wrong,” Able said simply. He mentally slapped his forehead, hoping he hadn’t ruined all his chances before he even saw the boys. “I’d have given the earth for kindness.” He started walking again. “I am twenty-six. Not until three weeks and five days ago did a woman put her arms around me.”
“Come now, Master Six,” Sir B chided. “You’ve been abroad in the world.”
“For lust and money, sir. Not for love.”
“You’re blunt, but I understand you,” the headmaster said.
They turned a corner to the eastern wing of the monastery and went up a flight of steps rendered uneven by the passage of many feet over the space of centuries. Able sniffed the fragrance of food cooking, and hoped he would be invited to eat. He had just enough money to get him back to Plymouth and Meridee, with nothing left over for frills, such as food.
With no knock or any fanfare, the headmaster opened the door. Twelve pairs of eyes turned their way. The teacher’s disapproving gaze was already fixed upon the three men who had invaded his classroom.
Interested, Able looked around, impressed with several windows facing the wharf. That the beautiful casement windows had survived centuries of wear and tear in a tough town was ample testimony either to luck, or a special blessing from St. Brendan himself.
He saw tidy rows of books on two shelves, and a table with a globe. The logs in the fireplace gave off a cheerful glow, if not much heat, because the master’s desk was plunked right in front of it. Share and share
alike, Master Whoever, he thought, unimpressed.
The master was a youngish fellow wearing a black university gown. He held a long pointer, which he tapped against the palm of his hand. Able watched the students’ eyes follow the motion, which told him all he needed to know about the method of classroom management.
“This is Master Blake, who instructs in English and history,” the headmaster said. “The curriculum includes mathematics, Master Blake’s subjects, and what we call natural science—alas, void of instruction. It is difficult to find teachers wishing to live in this part of Portsmouth. Sailing Master Fletcher also comes in occasionally to teach the use of a sextant to the older class.”
He indicated Master Blake, who executed a small bow. From his smirk, Able knew that he had already been discussed at St. Brendan’s, and probably found wanting in some way. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had underestimated him, and Able knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“Master Blake, let us turn the class over to Master Six here.”
“Yes, let us see what he can do,” the teacher said, as he handed Able his pointer.
Eyes on the boys again, Able took the pointer. As one, the students watched the stick in his hand and his heart broke a little. Meridee, I don’t know if you would approve of me, he thought, then cracked the stick over his leg.
The boys gasped and Master Blake exclaimed, “How dare you?”
Able glanced at the headmaster, who had started in surprise, too, but recovered quicker, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. Captain Sir Belvedere St. Anthony’s eyes registered approval and he nodded.
Able looked from the two pieces of the pointer to the boys, who seemed as one to relax. “Which of you lads is a fast runner? Anyone here ever need to show a clean pair of heels to run from a beadle or a magistrate?”
He eyed them. A hand went up slowly, then another. “You two, front and center.”
They stood before Able and he recognized their type, boys up for a spree and willing to skirt the edge of discipline. They were the kind of lads who, if well-trained, would someday be capable of quick decisions and vast courage. He recognized himself.
“I want you to run down the stairs as fast as may be, and position yourselves on each side of this window. Not too close, mind, because it is never my intention to skewer young boys. How could I explain that to the Navy Board?”
The students chuckled and loosened up further. Able held up his hand and the room became instantly silent.
“When you are in place, I will drop these two unequal pieces of this damned pointer at the same time,” Able said. “I want you to watch closely and tell me which piece hits the ground first. Handsomely, now!”
The two boys dashed out and clattered down the stairs. Able gestured for the other students to come close to the window. The headmaster and Sir B came too, while the teacher sulked against the wall.
Bang went the door downstairs. Able rested his arms on the ledge of the open window. “Ready, lads?” he called.
“Aye, sir,” came the answer.
Able dropped the two pieces. He glanced at the boys on either side of him, pleased to see he had their total attention. One little fellow already had a frown on his face. He opened his mouth as though a question had already formed in his brain.
“Run back upstairs with the pointer,” Able called. He closed the window against December chill.
“Well?” he asked, when the boys burst into the room again. They gave Master Blake a wide berth and handed the pointer pieces to Able.
“They landed at the same time, sir,” one boy said.
“Why?” asked the student Able had observed at the window. “The bigger piece should fall faster, sir. Shouldn’t it? It’s heavier.”
“Do you others think so?” Able asked. He saw what he expected to see: affirmation, negation, and puzzled expressions.
“Please sir, why?” asked the same student.
“The better question is how, rather than why,” Able said.
“Lord help us,” Master Blake muttered. “What is the difference?”
“Night and day, Master Blake. I will explain it to you sometime,” Able said, and saw in an instant he had made an enemy, if the pointer hadn’t been enough of a felony. “In a few weeks, God willing, we will rummage around in Sir Isaac Newton’s brain and see what he thinks,” Able said. Provided I haven’t fouled my anchor here, he thought as he quietly set the useless pointer pieces on the master’s desk. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He sat on the desk. From the horrified expressions on young faces, he quickly gathered that Master Blake had never done anything so vulgar.
“How many of you can swim?” he asked.
No one raised a hand, which did not surprise Able. What workhouse boy was ever given useful training? He waited. A hand went up slowly.
“Yes, Mister … Mister …. What is your name?”
“Jimmy Bawn,” he said promptly. “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to swim. The ocean is unforgiving.”
“Aye, it is, Mister Bawn,” Able replied. “Let us say your ship is shot to pieces and dismasted and you are drifting toward a lee shore. Wouldn’t it be nice to know how to swim that little distance and live to fight another day?”
He watched the boys nod in agreement, their eyes serious.
“We’ll learn to swim, because it’s smarter than drowning. We’ll also become acquainted with Sir Isaac Newton, and another chap named Galileo Galilei,” Able assured them. “Tell me something about yourselves. Are you from workhouses? Did you live on the streets?”
He didn’t think they would admit to such misery. He also knew it was his turn to tell them about himself, and in the telling, build a bond that must grow strong, if they were to feel safe to learn in an unsafe world.
“My name is Durable Six,” he said, and saw the smiles they could not hide. “A ridiculous name, eh? Go ahead and laugh. You have my permission.”
Some of them chuckled.
“I’ll tell you how I got my name. I was found naked and newly born on church steps in Dumfries, Scotland, in February of 1776,” he said. Some of them nodded. “I was the sixth bastard admitted to the Dumfries Workhouse since the start of the new year. The workhouse master waited for me to die—we’ll agree I had a rough start—but when I didn’t, he declared me Durable and named me Durable Six. My friends call me Able. You will call me Master Six, because I am a sailing master in the Royal Navy.”
He watched some of them mouth his name. “Are any of you numbered?”
Two hands went up, the students more confident now, because he was one of them. He gestured for them to stand, well-acquainted with their wary expressions. Almost as if you are wondering when the other shoe will drop and you will be back in the workhouse, he thought with sympathy. Not on my watch. Never.
“You, sir?”
“William Eight, Master Six. Someone had pinned the name William to me blanket.”
“A blanket and a name? Someone cared for you, then,” Able replied, thinking of the baby on the church steps, hair still wet from birth and starting to freeze. “Consider yourself lucky, Will. Stand here beside me. And you, sir?”
“Billie Two.” He grinned.
“Excellent! Stand here just so, and I will stand between you. What do we have here? You there.”
Another boy stood, the same child who had questioned why, when the sticks fell. “We have eight and six and two.”
“Subtract us. Use your fingers.” Able heard a grumble from Master Blake. “Yes, your fingers, if you need to. Why not?”
“We take the six from the eight and have two,” another lad said from the back of the room. “And if we add you, sir, and Billie, we’ll have Will Eight.”
“Indeed. Impressive. Suppose you subtract Billie Two from me? What then?”
“Four, sir.”
“And if we add me and Billie Two?”
“Eight, sir.”
“And then subtract us from Will Eight?”
“Zero, sir,” said Will Eight. “Gor! Think of the combinations!” Frightened, he looked down. “I spoke out of turn.”
“No one speaks out of turn in my classroom,” Able said. “Blurt out answers any time.”
“But this is my classroom, Six,” Master Blake said, deliberately not using his title. “You are wasting my time.”
The headmaster gestured to Able and he realized he had taken precisely twenty-eight minutes of someone else’s classroom instruction. And broken his pointer, too. The word “Failure” grew to enormous size on the unscrolling sheet of paper that was his brain. It even began to blink.
As he passed Master Blake, the teacher muttered, “You owe me a pointer.”
“I owe you nothing,” Able snapped back. “Boys don’t learn through fear.”
He left the room, head high, amazed at himself and nearly looking around for Meridee Bonfort, so badly did he need her to tell him if he had made a fool of himself, or if perhaps he had succeeded.
Silent, he walked between Sir B and Thaddeus Croker down the hall and back into the headmaster’s office.
“Sit yourselves, gentlemen,” Croker said. He moved a few papers on top of his desk and handed one to Able. “This, Master Six, is a contract with St. Brendan the Navigator School.” He pointed. “That is your annual salary, which you will receive monthly in twelve portions. You’ve probably already read the entire thing, if I can believe Miss Bonfort and Captain Hallowell, who visited me last week.”
“Aye, I have,” he replied, knowing they would never understand the blink that registered every word immediately in his brain. “There is a house, and a cook and maid.”
“The house is situated directly across the road from St. Brendan’s. It is already furnished. In two weeks, there will be food in the pantry, and fuel for the fireplaces. Do come and teach with us, Master Six.”
Captain St. Anthony raised his hand. “I have been directed to inform you that you will remain on the rolls of the Royal Navy. Should national emergency decree it, you can still be summoned to the fleet. What say you?”
For some reason, the Lord Omnipotent had finally seen fit to smile upon one of the least of his earthly sons. Able could barely breathe as his brain seemed to race around in his skull, shouting and clicking its heels together, and pinging off cranial craters. He could actually wed Meridee Bonfort and teach boys much like himself to become useful masters in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. What more could a man wish?
