by Alaric Bond
Not that he had ever been one to bear a grudge, and neither did he consciously remember the smaller matters that counted against him. But a few had caused him significant harm in the past, ranging from the older brother who took on, then ruined, their father's grocery business, to the only woman he had ever loved, who turned out as loyal as any Drury Lane fen; these, along with a few fellows, he had been struggling to forgive for some while. To grant them the same concession his personal redeemer wished to impart on all was well beyond a mortal such as Franklin, and he entered the crowded stewards' room in low spirits.
But inside he found much to encourage him: the place was indeed packed – there must have been at least twenty already squeezed against the spirketting or huddled uncomfortably upon the deck, and he knew for a fact there were as many attending the next meeting that Kennedy would be leading immediately afterwards.
For all his apparent humility, the steward had done wonders in waking up the spiritual heart of the ship, although Kennedy always cited Franklin as being the main instigator. But whoever was responsible, there could be no doubt that a good deal of progress was being made.
And it was not confined to those appearing at Bible study; the general attitude on the lower deck was also altering, with less squabbling and petty fights while, on the Sundays when the captain held divine worship, it was noticeable that the entire congregation was becoming more vocal. Hymns were now sung with gusto, and the assembled seamen were finally achieving that deep rumble of combined prayer that Franklin felt had been missing aboard Prometheus for far too long.
Still, the next hour or so would hardly be easy, and after it he would not be returning to the wardroom, but his previous berth in the crowded and stuffy aft cockpit. He consoled himself with the thought that there were plenty worse off than him, and the position of senior midshipman and head of the mess was not without its benefits.
He had found it easier to speak to other members of the crew; those who came to him to ask about the regular meetings and, on several glorious occasions, go on to confess a stumbling acceptance of the Lord. There were actually two at the current meeting for which that had recently happened, and Franklin wondered if his presence in the berth had been the final factor in bringing them to faith. Briars and Brown, two of the youngest midshipmen – Briars was in truth still only a volunteer – were sitting opposite him now as he opened with a short prayer, and Franklin was particularly happy the lads had joined.
There had originally been four youngsters posted to the ship at roughly the same time he was promoted to acting lieutenant. Two were later killed though, and such a thing is likely to have an effect upon the most seasoned of men, let alone impressionable boys. But Briars and Brown had come to accept the word with all its connotations, eagerly reading their Bibles during off duty moments, and apparently destined to become solid Christians. Such a victory was wondrous indeed and, should his presence have had anything to do with it, probably worth the reduction in rank on its own.
But that was not going to make the next hour any the easier. As far as coming closer to the Spirit was concerned, Franklin knew himself to be making progress in most directions, although forgiveness remained his least favoured subject, and one on which he felt unqualified to preach. But the general prayers were over; from across the crowded room Maxwell caught his eye, and Franklin knew it time to begin. He stood up, head bent more from the low deckhead than out of devotion, and read from Luke. Of all the gospel writers, he was probably Franklin's favourite. Doctor, scholar and gentile, Luke 's account was the one Franklin felt most at home with, and something of this must have been apparent to the assembly. For the men listened in respectful silence, and very soon Franklin became lost in a place where ranks, privileges and all other worldly matters counted for very little.
* * *
Flint made his reappearance shortly after they watered at Tetuan, although by then he was barely a shadow of the man whose spirit had filled both his mess, and most of the lower deck. None of the officers commented on his return; it being generally agreed he must have found a convenient hidey-hole. And neither did they ask why he had chosen to stay hidden; all could understand how a seasoned Jack would prefer to end his days afloat, than undergo the terrors of a land based hospital. And Flint was allowed to retain his berth, rather than shifting to the medical department as Manning briefly suggested. He was a seaman of many years' standing, one who had served with a good few of Prometheus' people through other commissions in different ships although, even if he had more recently joined as a raw recruit, the reaction would have been little different.
It was a recognised fact that men serving aboard the same vessel, be she brig or battleship, soon became of one mind. Even if they remained in home waters and not hearing so much as a musket fired in anger, they would inevitably meld together and become shipmates; a term frequently misused or not fully understood by land animals. As it was, this particular crew had seen action on several occasions, while their ship sailed in seas where nearly every coastline was either inhabited by the enemy, or under their influence. Consequently, Prometheus was now a floating island – a small slice of English territory in herself. And if one of their number was sick, he would be attended to in the manner of any caring community.
His hammock was still struck before breakfast of course: anything else would have been contrary to routine, and might start similar breaches of discipline which could end with Prometheus' afterguard messing in the wardroom. But he was now excused even light duties and spent the time when his watch was on deck wrapped in a blanket, his kerseymere hat pulled low, and the previous issue of grog lying untouched to one side.
And soon he would die; that was recognised and accepted by all. When the time came he would be given a seaman's burial, sewn into his hammock, with the last stitch, the snitch, being passed through the bridge of his nose by the sailmaker. At his feet would be round shot and, after a short ceremony which the captain himself presided over, then be slipped gently off a grating, over the side, and into his natural element.
All this was known, yet unspoken; acknowledged as the way of things by men who accepted their own fates were likely to be broadly similar. But while he remained amongst them, Flint would be treated with respect; allowed to continue in his honorary position as head of the mess, and entitled to any benefits due to the working hands.
When he did go they would be sorry, that was also generally agreed. Such an integral part of their lives could only leave a gap, and it would be weeks before memories took the place of the man who left them. The commission would continue, however; their ship might see further action, or be paid off, with her people dispersed to different vessels or returned to where little of the sea and its lore was known. And then even the memories would begin to fade, that or be overshadowed by other events, other sadnesses. Flint would probably remain in the minds of his close friends, his tie mate, and perhaps members of his gun crew. But even they would forget him some day, that or take a similar journey. And only then would he truly be gone.
* * *
At first the meeting had progressed in exactly the fashion Franklin expected. He read two further Bible passages, before adding his own comment; vague reflections on forgiveness that had been somewhat guiltily cribbed from notes made during a previous talk by Kennedy. And then, as had become the custom in such gatherings, the subject was thrown open for all to discuss.
One of the quarter gunners mentioned a long running dispute with a quartermaster's mate, a man known to all as something of a martinet, and there were loyal hisses of sympathy from gun crew as well as general hands. Another spoke of a purser in a former ship known to be mean with rations, to the extent that they had cause to petition the captain. Then there were other examples where the speaker was indisputably innocent, and found forgiveness hard to grant.
By the time they were half way through, and there was less than an hour left before the end of the first dogwatch, Franklin was barely listening. Experience told him they would get no fu
rther, as was invariably the case when the topic was mentioned. None came forward to admit to being the guilty party and ask for mercy themselves. That was not to say the meeting was in any way wasted; to Franklin's mind such a thing could never be, when men met together in the Lord's name. Still, he was resigned to the fact that, if any progress was to be made, it would come in the privacy of individual reflection, rather than a public announcement.
And then someone did speak up; one of the lads who had only been attending for a few weeks. When Briars raised his hand all, including Franklin, were expecting some revelation about an unfair incident with a senior officer, or perhaps something from the boy's recent childhood. No one expected the dreadful confession that was subsequently delivered.
Often such a tale, when told amid the revelry of a run ashore, or an afternoon's make and mend, would have attracted lewd comments, and raucous laughter, but the men gathered in the stewards' room were there for an entirely different purpose, and not the type, or in the mood, to give way to such base instincts. Instead they simply regarded the culprits with pity, for Brown, seated next to Briars, gave credence to the story by his red face and guilty countenance.
Franklin swallowed dryly as the last terrible details of that afternoon in the midshipmen's berth were revealed. On one level this would have been perfect fare for the session he had in mind; were the boys admitting to petty pilfery, or perhaps a minor dereliction in duty, a blind eye might have been turned to the actual crime, while the two were counselled, and no doubt became the subject of ongoing prayer. But Franklin knew at once there was no question of containing such a revelation to Bible study; whatever the spiritual ramifications, this was undoubtedly a case where he must submit to more worldly laws. A serious crime had been committed, and it was his duty as a king's officer to see Caesar was paid with a suitably earthly punishment.
The boy's divisional officer should be informed without delay, and there would be a court martial, so both lads would be placed under arrest. It was unfortunate the girl had been delivered ashore, but not inconceivable that a trial could take place when Prometheus rejoined the Fleet off Toulon. For there was no questioning such a full and detailed admission: they could only be found guilty; indeed it would hardly take longer to hear the evidence than announce sentence.
Although sentencing itself would be another problem. The Articles of War covered many crimes, but none the boys had specifically committed. They might be subject to criminal law, in which case a civil court should try them, and that must wait until they made harbour: really this was a nightmare on so many levels.
Franklin stood up and raised his hands for attention; there was little he could say, no words of wisdom, no passages which came to mind, just a numb feeling of disbelief that two apparently good natured young men had been so reduced. Fortunately Musgrave, a ship's corporal, was present and, reverting to his authority as a warrant officer, Franklin crisply ordered the lads to be taken into custody. Then three bells were struck; the first dogwatch would be over in half an hour at which point he was required on deck. But first he had a deal of explaining to do, and that was something Franklin did not relish.
* * *
“How long have these gatherings been taking place?” Banks asked when the two lads had been taken from the great cabin. Their crime left him only mildly surprised; such things were not unknown aboard ships of every description, and he had long since accepted that most beings carried the ability to be both good and bad in equal measure. The thought that the incident had come to light in such a way bothered the captain far more. What had been blithely referred to as a fellowship meeting held ramifications beyond mere religious instruction. A mutinous assembly might be equally so called and, as captain of the ship, it was his duty to investigate the matter fully.
Caulfield shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He was also aware that a gathering of men not subject to strict naval discipline was a potential threat, and could be seen as a black mark against his premiership. “Since about a month after we first commissioned,” he replied. “There was a measure of resentment from some of the hands at our not shipping a chaplain.”
“Why so?” Banks asked, genuinely surprised. “Surely the average man cares little if there is one aboard or not; some even credit them as bringing bad luck.”
“That is often the case,” Caulfield admitted. “Though we appear to have many with a strong faith amongst our people.”
Banks snorted. “Have we indeed? And is not the weekly divine service sufficient for them?”
“Apparently not, sir,” Caulfield answered with unusual formality. “In Mr Fraiser's time there were similar meetings, but that was in smaller ships with lesser crews. Prometheus is a third rate...”
“And I suppose should, in truth be carrying a chaplain,” Banks conceded irritably. “But I fail to see why it be necessary, nor what a man of the cloth would actually do when not conducting worship.”
“It is customary to combine the duties of a chaplain with those of schoolmaster,” Caulfield suggested cautiously.
“So I understand,” Banks snapped. “Although I consider each head of department fulfils the task adequately; there should surely not be need for more.”
“Perhaps a general education?” Caulfield persisted. “Some are little older than children.”
“Are they indeed?” Banks questioned. To his mind the first lieutenant was being unusually stubborn. It was bad enough that he had been forced to confine two junior warrant officers under close arrest when, with the girl gone from the ship, there must surely have been a more diplomatic way of handling things. For a major crime to have been committed aboard Prometheus reflected badly on all, and privately he conceded a breakdown in pastoral care was the cause. And he supposed Caulfield was right, with the offence being admitted in front of so many, it would have been hard to hide such a public admission of the ship's failings.
“But surely things had not grown so bad?” he asked finally. “Franklin did a fair job of supervising the midshipmen in the past.”
“I believe he did,” the first lieutenant confirmed. “And after failing his board, he returned to the aft cockpit without protest. Since then there has been a better standard of dress and deportment amongst the young gentlemen.” Caulfield paused and considered the matter further before adding, “so perhaps I may have been wrong with what I said previously.”
Banks raised his eyes in enquiry but made no comment.
“I felt Franklin was doing little good as senior of the mess,” Caulfield continued. “It seemed a position that served no actual purpose – rather as that of a chaplain,” he admitted, with an ironic look at his captain. “But it might be his presence accounted for more than we believed. And, had he not left, this whole terrible incident might never have taken place.”
* * *
Butler was not with them that evening. Though still decidedly weakened from his time with the xebec, two ship's corporals had escorted him from the mess during the afternoon watch, just before the second issue of spirits, and no one was certain quite what had become of him since. News of the midshipmen's arrest then began to be known and generous descriptions of their exploits were soon causing sniggers, comment and a predictable buzz of speculation about the lower deck. But however titillating the lads' crime, the talk eventually returned to that of Butler and Butler alone. There might have been no scandal or mystery; everyone knew the circumstances as well as what he was accused of, and all were united in their disapproval.
“Don't care if he were a runner,” Bleeden declared over a post supper tankard of stingo. “If he and t'others 'adn't stopped their rowing, that pirate would still be out an' causing mischief.”
There was no reply from the rest; every man present shared his sentiments but were too tired to voice them yet again. Then Jameson, returning from a trip to the heads, brought news.
“Butler's on the punishment deck,” he said, slipping into his customary place at the table. “Set in bilboes with a couple of bo
otnecks watchin' over him.”
“So he's getting a flogging,” Cranston's tone was level but not without feeling.
“Aye,” Jameson agreed. “Two 'undred, accordin' to our old mate Wainwright. And the bugger seemed to think it funny.”
“Bastard,” Bleeden commented philosophically before laying into his beer.
“He's probably still cut up about that prank we pulled on 'im in Gib.,” Greg mused.
“Two hundred stripes is more than the captain's properly allowed,” Cranston maintained, returning to the subject. “Twelve: that's the limit.”
“But he needn't take notice of that,” Flint pointed out. “Captains do what they pleases, they ain't accountable to no laws.”
“Aye, it'll take more'n a rule book to stop Sir Dick,” Greg agreed. “Nothin' will as I sees it.”
“Then he's a bastard an' all,” Bleeden added, and no one disagreed.
* * *
On the following day, when Hunt was standing the morning watch, he could not have been happier. His commission was now a full three weeks old, with the last five days being spent at sea and aboard what was becoming the best ship he had ever served in. Prometheus might appear nothing more than an uninspiring and slightly aged third rate but, since joining her, there seemed to be no lack of action. And, most importantly, he had received the vital step to commissioned rank.
Furthermore, he was working with a set of officers he truly felt at home with. Hunt had taken the watch from Tom King, someone he now considered his best friend, although several others in the wardroom ran a close second. And there had been no objection to his moving into Franklin's old cabin which, though marginally smaller, lacked the presence of a thirty-two pounder.
Remembering Franklin brought up mild feelings of guilt. Though there may have been reservations at first, Hunt now genuinely liked the man, and knowing he may have stolen his last chance of a commission rather took some of the joy from his new wash-boards. But there appeared to be no bitterness; Franklin had cleared out of the wardroom remarkably quickly, and resumed his former duties as senior of the aft cockpit without a single word of comment or regret.