by M. C. Muir
‘Will we be joining Lord Nelson in the Mediterranean?’
‘No. We do not sail beyond Gibraltar.’
‘But Lord Nelson and the Mediterranean Fleet are responsible for the Gibraltar station. Is that not so?’
‘That is the situation at present. However, as you are aware, Lord Nelson’s fleet is engaged in the northern Mediterranean and every ship under his command is engaged in the blockade of Toulon to ensure Napoleon’s fleet doesn’t manage to slip out. I was also reminded that war with Spain, which as we know has been looming for some time, is now thought to be imminent.’ He was tempted to continue, but hesitated. ‘My instructions are to proceed to Gibraltar, where I will receive further orders from the garrison commander there.’
‘The Duke of York is commander of the fortress, is he not?’
‘In name only. He departed the Rock about a year ago for Canada and is unlikely to return, however, he was unwilling to relinquish his title – much to the chagrin of Sir Thomas Trigge, the present Lieutenant-Governor of Gibraltar and commander of the garrison. I understand His Highness’s ideas were somewhat unorthodox and proved very unpopular amongst the troops.’
Simon raised his eyebrows.
‘Of the ninety taverns in the town, he restricted the troops to frequenting only three of them. They were not allowed to drink gin or rum. Instead he insisted they drink Bristol Beer which was locally brewed on Windmill Hill. He had the morning gun brought forward to three-thirty and was a stickler for regular parades and uniformity. He even ordered the soldiers to shave off their beards and whiskers.’
‘An unpopular move, no doubt,’ Simon said.
Oliver nodded. ‘The Duke of York’s measures resulted in a threat to his life and a mutiny. And although he has retained the title of Governor, it is well known that he will never return to Gibraltar. Since taking up his post as Lieutenant-Governor, the new commander has repealed most of those regulations in an effort to reclaim the confidence of the troops.’
‘In interesting situation,’ Simon said. ‘I trust we will not be remaining there long.’
‘That is not for me to question,’ Oliver replied. ‘Gibraltar has proved itself to be a British military stronghold where the navy plays only a minor supportive role. The garrison established its superiority during the Great Siege against French and Spanish bombardment from both land and sea.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘But, apart from the dockyard and stores, there is no permanent naval establishment in Gibraltar. The navy uses it as a place to refit and refurbish, and an Admiral’s flag is only raised when one is in residence on the Rock, as Earl St Vincent was a few years ago.
‘My orders are to proceed to sea and deliver dispatches in person to Admiral Cornwallis off Brest before sailing south to Ferrol, where I will attend Lord Cochrane.’
Simon Parry was intrigued. ‘I assume our mission entails more than delivering messages to the squadron commanders.’
Oliver grinned. ‘The motives behind the Admiralty’s orders are often veiled in secrecy, or contrived in such a way to hide their true intent. I am aware of some of their Lordships’ concerns but, at this juncture, I am not at liberty to share that information with you.’
The lieutenant nodded. ‘I understand.’
Oliver’s mind was leaping ahead. ‘How soon before we are ready to sail?’
‘The fresh supplies have all come aboard in your absence, plus two new midshipmen.’
‘Their ages?’
‘Not long weaned.’
Oliver did not reply.
‘We are fully watered and the additional shot you requested was brought aboard yesterday. The only matter requiring your attention is the pressed men confined in the hold. Do we ship them all or cast half of them adrift?’
‘Until they have been examined, I cannot say. I will come on deck shortly. In the meantime, keep a look-out for any sign of the surgeon on the wharf.’
‘Aye aye, Captain.’ Simon Parry said, as he departed the cabin.
There was no doubt in Oliver’s mind as to the fine attributes of his first lieutenant, both as a naval officer and a gentleman. He was trustworthy, astute, dependable and honourable. He was also unassuming, perhaps too much so for his own advancement. Oliver also respected his first lieutenant for his personal loyalty, for his loyalty to whatever ship he was serving on, and his loyalty to King and country. That he was still without his own command was a travesty in Oliver’s eyes but, that he was serving aboard Perpetual, with responsibility for the welfare and performance of the crew, was a definite bonus.
He welcomed the news the ship had been resupplied and watered and was ready for sea. After six months cruising the northern reaches of the Channel and the North Sea, as part of a squadron, he looked forward to sailing south alone.
But his recent visit to the Admiralty had raised a few questions in his mind and left him feeling somewhat deflated. Things had changed in the corridors of power since his previous visit. The government had changed. Lord Addingham had been ousted and William Pitt the Younger was now Prime Minister. And, in an unexpected and unpopular move, the position of First Sea Lord was no longer held by Earl St Vincent. It had been given to Lord Melville, a soldier, a military man, born of a wealthy aristocratic family. A land’s man. A lubber.
Oliver asked himself: How can a man who has never served aboard a navy ship, let alone commanded one, possibly comprehend or appreciate the needs of the Navy and its sailors?
Here was a soldier who would serve the government with visions of military supremacy, while ignoring the role of the Royal Navy in preventing the French invasion of Britain taking place.
Oliver knew he was not alone in his concerns. Many high-ranking naval officers were uncomfortable with Lord Melville’s appointment, but nothing could be done to change the situation. The Lords Commissioners were a group of highly respected men and, like the officers aboard any ship, were made up of men from various backgrounds, ages and experiences – though, at least on a fighting ship, all its senior officer were seafaring men.
The previous Sea Lord, who, as the young John Jervis, had come from humble beginnings, entered the navy at twelve years of age and during his sixty years of naval service risen to the rank of Admiral, been created a Knight of the Bath in ’82 and received an Earldom following his victory at Cape St Vincent. But now, like the a worn-out hulk in Portsmouth Harbour, he had been cast adrift and replaced.
Earl St Vincent was a man Oliver had always held in high esteem and he felt privileged the previous First Sea Lord had rewarded him with missions he would not have offered to other captains.
Only a few years prior to his retirement, St Vincent had spent time in Gibraltar where he had raised his flag and documented numerous urgent matters that needed to be addressed such as the problems of sanitation, the need for reservoirs to collect drinking water, the need to improve the naval dockyard and the need for shipwrights in order to build gunships to serve on the bay. His visions for Gibraltar was as something more than just a place for ships of the Mediterranean Fleet to refit. He also wanted to see the power wielded by the military moderated.
Oliver wondered if it was ill-health or the vehemence of St Vincent’s demands that had led to his withdrawal from the Rock, his recall to England, and his subsequent retirement from the service.
The appearance of his steward interrupted his thoughts.
‘Beg pardon, Capt’n, but Mr Parry said for me to say there is a boat just pulled away from the Camber and heading this way. And, from the number of boxes and bags heaped on board, he thinks it’s likely to be the surgeon.’
‘Thank you, Casson, that is indeed good news.’ Reaching for his cup, he drained the bitter dregs and was about to rise but reconsidered his decision. ‘Tell Mr Parry I would like to see the doctor in my cabin, as soon as he is settled in his quarters.’
Although good surgeons were invaluable in the King’s navy, it was common knowledge that men of repute were few and far between. Skilled physicians worked from priva
te rooms charging exorbitant fees to operate on their patients. Some held teaching posts in the major London hospitals. But having suffered the services of some dubious characters posing as physicians, it was not hard for the captain to resist the desire to go on deck. He did not wish to inflate the surgeon’s ego before he had the opportunity to learn if his services warranted such attention.
‘It will be interesting to discover what manner of man the Navy Board is subjecting us to this time,’ he said cynically.
CHAPTER 2
Dr Whipple
‘Perpetual!’
The call came from a small boat that had swum out from the Camber and was being rowed towards the frigate. The single word prompted the sailors on deck to shuffle to the starboard side to take a gander at the approaching wherry as it drifted up against the frigate’s hull. Apart from the two men on the oars and a sailor sitting in the bow, the boat conveyed a well-dressed gentleman.
Sitting upright in the stern sheets, his left arm rested on the rail, his right hand on his walking cane. A substantial wooden chest, an assortment of boxes, several large glass jars and other baggage were stowed between the thwarts.
‘Looks like the surgeon you was waiting for,’ the second lieutenant commented.
‘I believe you are correct, Mr Tully,’ Simon Parry replied.
Although the surgeon’s stick, decorated with a brass ferrule, was the first item to be handed up the ladder, the man to whom it belonged was in no way infirm or aged. He was a sprightly young man appearing little older than the average lieutenant. The cane, however, provided no indication of his professional prowess. Tarnished brass was a poor substitute for the gold-topped walking sticks carried by physicians as a mark of their status.
Mr Parry greeted him as he stepped aboard.
‘My apologies, I am a little overdue. Jonathon Whipple at your service. Ship’s surgeon.’
‘Welcome aboard, Mr Whipple. Mr Smith will show you to the cockpit. Then, as soon as you are familiar with your quarters, the captain wishes to speak with you.’
The doctor bowed his head politely before casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure his cases were being hoisted onto the deck.
‘Mr Tully, kindly attend to the doctor’s dunnage. Make use of Mr Gibb and Mr Hanson. The rest of you men who are not required, go below or find yourself some useful occupation.’
The second lieutenant knuckled his forehead and turned to the two new midshipmen. ‘You heard the lieutenant. Make doubly sure all the baggage is out of the boat before it casts off. I’ve known stuff disappear before it’s even stepped foot aboard. If you want me, I’ll be on the orlop with Mr Parry.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ Mr Hanson, the taller of the pair replied.
No sooner was the lieutenant out of sight than an argument began at the entry port.
‘You there. Get back in the boat,’ Mr Gibb ordered. ‘You’re not allowed to come on deck.’
‘But I’m a sailor and I want to sign.’ The demand came from a youth, bag slung over his shoulder, attempting to climb the ladder.
‘We don’t need any more hands,’ Mr Hanson insisted. ‘We’ve got more than enough already.’
‘Well, I’m sure you can squeeze in one more. Go tell the captain it’s me, Tommy Wainwright, and tell him that when I last spoke with him, I said I’d be back. He’ll remember. Go on.’
The midshipmen exchanged glances.
‘Less of your cheek. I don’t care what your name is or what your cock-and-bull story is, the fact is you’re not coming aboard.’ With that, Mr Hanson grabbed the youth by the wrists and tried to dislodge the firm grip he had on the rail. ‘If you don’t let go, I’ll get a pole and push you overboard.’
From the forward rail a voice boomed: ‘Hey, you young scallywag! What do you think you’re up to?’
Everyone stopped and turned in the direction of the voice.
‘Go sling your hook on another ship! Who do you think you are, throwing your weight about like you’ve got a warrant? Chuck him in the harbour. Let him drown. That’s what I say.’
While Gibb and Hanson were unable to see who had issued the command, some of the sailors applauded and a smile broke out across Tommy Wainwright’s face.
‘Bungs – you old codger!’ he yelled, grabbing the opportunity to wriggle his way on to the deck. ‘You ain’t forgotten me then?’
The young middies exchanged puzzled looks.
‘I never forget no one,’ Bungs said, striding abaft like he was lord of the manor, his false scowl mellowing with every step. ‘Do as I say and let the lad alone. You don’t need to ask the captain, I’ll vouch for the sailor. But you best let Mr Parry know.’
With sniggers and jeers from the sailors enjoying the exchange, Mr Hanson spun his head around anxiously searching the deck for an officer. ‘Go get Mr Tully,’ he whispered to his mate.
‘Looks like you’ve sprouted a bit,’ Bungs said, as he neared the group. ‘Knee-high to a flea you was, when you was last aboard. Grow another few inches and you’ll be as big as the rest of the crew. That ma of yours has been feeding you too well, I reckon.’
Running the final few paces to greet him, Tommy embraced his old friend.
‘Hey – get your hands off me. I ain’t your father.’
‘Nearest I’ve got to one,’ Tommy said, punching his fist into the cooper’s belly. ‘Where’s Eku? Is he aboard?’
‘Aye, and Muffin and the rest of the lads. Wait until they see you. Sight for sore eyes, you are. So you’ve decided to come back and mess with us?’
‘Watch out!’ a voice warned.
Mr Parry leapt up the companionway two steps at time and headed for the group gathered near the entry port. ‘What is all this about? I could hear the upheaval from below.’
‘This sailor has come aboard without permission. I couldn’t stop him, sir,’ the midshipman explained.
‘You couldn’t stop him? Then I hope we never come into close action with you in command, Mr Hanson.’
‘We got us another volunteer, Mr Parry,’ Bungs said. ‘You remember young Tom. He says the captain’ll speak for him like he did once before.’
‘Thank you, Bungs, I will have words with you and the midshipmen later but, for the present, I think the captain has more important things to attend to.’ He looked at the new arrival with a glint in his eye. ‘Perhaps I should lock him in the hold with the other pressed men.’
‘Not bloody likely,’ Bungs argued adamantly.
‘Be careful, Bungs! I was speaking in jest.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Bide your time and your temper. The choice of hands from the pressed men has yet to be made. I need a dozen men to make up a full crew, and who stays and who goes will be for the doctor to determine. However, I see no reason this young sailor can’t be included in that selection.’
Tommy liked the fact he was referred to as a sailor.
The lieutenant addressed him. ‘Behave yourself and remain on deck. Mr Gibb,’ he said, turning his attention to the midshipman, ‘is that wherry still alongside?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I suggest you have it cast it off as quickly as possible. Isn’t that what you were instructed to do?’
‘Yes, sir. Aye aye, sir.’
‘And clear this rabble. I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.’
The two young middies dithered over which job to attend to first. The events of the previous few minutes had completed befuddled them. Arriving on their first ship they had been warned there was a lot to be learned, but it was quickly becoming evident that not everything was written in the handbooks.
When the wherry had pushed off and was pulling for the Camber, they breathed a little more easily but real relief didn’t come until the lieutenant had returned below and all the surgeon’s dunnage had disappeared from the deck. Only then was the pair of thirteen-year-olds able to retreat to the sanctuary of the quarterdeck.
Leaning against the windlass, Bungs threw a glancing punc
h that skimmed across Tommy’s chin. ‘You look too healthy to have been working underground. Are you still breathing that coal dust? And where’s that brother you said you was going to bring with you?
Tommy shook his head. ‘No way was I going down the pit again, especially with prize money rattling in me pocket. Instead, I bought meself a hand-cart and started fetching and carrying stuff.’
Bungs was surprised. ‘So you’re a barrow boy now, eh?’
‘Yes, but I’m not working for some thieving merchant like them that hangs around the wharves. It’s me own cart and me own business and I make me own wages. I ain’t fussy. I’ll cart anything that needs carting, furniture, sacks of oats, rhubarb, coal, coffins, even night soil – anything that folks’ll pay to have shifted from one place to another. I’ve worked hard and built up a tidy little trade.’
‘I don’t doubt you have, lad, but, tell me this, Mister Clever Dick, if you’re such a clever little businessman, what brings you back here?’
‘I promised I’d be back, didn’t I? I wanted to see you and Eku and Muffin. And there’s always the chance of a bit more prize money.’
‘Chance of getting your head blown off too,’ Bungs said.
Tommy shrugged. ‘Like you said, I’ve grown a bit so I won’t be taken for a powder monkey anymore, so I’ll make more wages. And I’ve got this to prove I’ve seen action,’ he said, proudly holding up his left hand minus the little finger. ‘As for me brother, he wouldn’t leave ma back home alone but he was happy to quit the pit and take on the carting job. And me ma was happy about that too. Real proud of me she is. She thought she’d never see me again when I took off last time, and she didn’t want me to go again, but I told her I’d be back. I couldn’t say when, but I promised I’d have more money in me pocket and I’ll buy me a horse and a real cart next time.’