by Lee Henschel
The Sailing Master
Book One: Coming of Age
a novel by
Lee Henschel Jr.
Rocket Science Press
Shipwreckt Books Publishing Company
Lanesboro, Minnesota
Cover photo of the Mediterranean from Carthage by Susan Bidou
Cover design by Shipwreckt Books
Copyright © 2014 Lee Henschel Jr.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2014 Rocket Science Press
Print ISBNs
ISBN-10:0990762203
ISBN-13:978-0-9907622-0-1
Table of Contents
Part One: Eleanor
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Two: Otra Nova
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Part Three: Amunia
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Glossary of Nautical Terms
About the Author
The Sailing Master
Book One: Coming of Age
For Mom and Dad
Part One: Eleanor
Chapter One
Captain Cedric smelled of command. That was my first impression upon boarding HMS Eleanor. The second? An obscure awareness of the Sukiyama. Over time I came to know something of the captain, and of command. But although I perceived the Sukiyama many times I still don’t know its meaning. And never will, for the Sukiyama is an elusive mystery, and most wondrous. These impressions come from long ago, when I was twelve. And for the past five decades I have served aboard Eleanor, and her alone. I am aboard her now as we complete our last homeward passage, and begin this chronicle.
I am Owen Harriet, sailing master of Eleanor, a fifth-rate of thirty-six guns. Her keel was laid at Portsmouth Dockyard in 1794 and she was launched in 1796. I first came aboard Eleanor on April fifth, 1798. On that day my father, John Harriet, brought me to serve as cabin boy for my uncle, Captain James Cedric. Father was a farrier in Newbury, in Berkshire, and I his third son. A humble existence to be sure, yet we survived . . . until the summer of 1795 when mother, Megan Harriet, died giving birth to her fourth child, Peg. We lost the heart of our family when mum died, along with her earnings as a weaver. Father had to hire a wet nurse for the infant. Debts accrued and by that fall he’d sold the last of mum’s weavings at Newbury Fair. He sold her loom the following winter. Within a year we fell desperate poor. My oldest brother, John, took to stealing. We knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be caught. And that would destroy us.
Captain Cedric was my mother’s only sibling. He was always at sea and had missed mother’s funeral. He knew of our imminent demise though, and when his offer arrived by post we asked a neighbor to read it out to us, and thought his proposition a godsend. Uncle Cedric proposed to help relieve father’s burden by taking one of us to sea . . . to serve as his cabin boy. He planned on arriving in Portsmouth in May to assume command of Eleanor, and if his proposal was agreeable he would forward a small advance. Father was most agreeable. But who would go? John was father’s apprentice and needed in the stables. And Albert, my brother two years older than me, was simple. So if befell me to depart hearth and home, and take to the sea.
The day I boarded Eleanor was the first time I met uncle Cedric. He was much as mother had described him. Short and round, a receding hairline and cropped black hair, a pocked, weathered face and slightly bulging blue eyes. A full beard, trimmed neat, and with no mustache. He walked with a rolling gate, or stood firm on short, powerful legs, his hands held at his waist, hooked by their thumbs on his belt loops.
My first duty came upon entering the great cabin. A great cabin perhaps, but not so grand, with deck beams spanning low overhead. Uncle Cedric and father took chairs at the round table in the center of the cabin and I stood by the door, not knowing what to do.
“Don’t stand there gawking, boy. Serve your father and me a glass of hock. It’s stowed in the port gallery.”
I knew port and starboard but not the gallery, so I asked.
He rolled his eyes disdainful, then pointed to the gallery with his thumb. Unusual that, using your thumb to point, and I learned then of one of the captain’s ways.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Hear this, boy. ‘Yes’ is not how you respond onboard a ship. All ships are busy and loud, so you must say aye. Loud and sharp—to be heard above the din.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You’ll find he’s a quick learner, James.”
“We shall see. But he’s no more than a pip, John, and will be bullied for his good fortune of becoming a cabin boy when others rank above him.”
“I admit he’s small. But a scrappy one, and strong from working around horses all his life. And he’s learned from his brother how to take a thumping. No . . . he’ll not be bullied, I don’t think.”
“Does he have his letters?”
“No, sir. I can’t pay to school the lad. Besides, a farrier’s son has little need of letters. But he has good teeth! Show your teeth, boy.”
I showed uncle my teeth. He didn’t care overmuch, it seemed, and returned to my education, or lack of it.
“I assume you want him to advance, John. But you must understand that literacy rises all around the boy and he’ll be no more than able seaman if he can’t read.”
“Well, he is right nimble with numbers, and . . .”
“I know my letters some, uncle. But I should like to know them better.”
Father struck quick, slapping my face. “I apologize for his insolence, James. He’s young yet, and . . .”
Just then a thunderous commotion erupted as Eleanor’s marines tramped from the quarterdeck to form at the main chains. Uncle stood, and then father, their heads almost knocking the beams as I watched the wine tremble in the goblets.
Uncle tugged at his uniform and adjusted the epaulette on his right shoulder. “That will be Admiral Christchurch. I shall be at his service for the rest of the day so I’ll send in my purser to sign the boy on.” He buckled on his sword. “It’s been many years John, and many more I think, before we meet again.”
“Very likely. But sure as we’re standing here, our Megan speaks your name to the Lord. I am beholden.”
They shook hands.
“I’m the one who’s beholden, John. You dared enter that inferno to save my sister. You, and no other. And although it’s my honour and my duty to serve His Majesty I regret having been at sea when my family most needed me.”
In 1775 that awful fire had burned down the Cedric household and took the life of mother’s parents, William and Rachel Cedric. Squire Cedric kept modest holdings not far from Newbury and father happened to be working in the squire’s stable on the day of that fire. When the farm hands came running they discovered the squire and his wife were missing. And Megan as well, all three possibly caught in the fire. It was father who risked entering the house to find out. He managed to find Megan and pull her clear. But by then the flames leapt from window and door.
Father and uncle grew silent in memory and reverence, then father went on.
“Unburden y
ourself, James. You left years before that awful time, to make your way in the Royal Navy. You could not know the future. No one can. And you cannot wait on fate. I only wish I could have saved your parents as well as Megan. But there was no more I could do.”
Uncle squared before his looking glass and addressed father’s reflection. “Surely you did do more. You married my sister and saved her from debt bondage. Now you’re in a desperate way. And this, well this offer is the least I can do.”
Uncle doffed his bicorne, set it at the proper angle and departed to join his officers already forming to receive the admiral. Father and I stood alone in the great cabin, listening to the bosun’s shrill whistle and the tattoo of drums. He took a small purse from his jerkin and gave it to me.
“A few bob, son. It’s all I can afford. Keep them close and try to spend wisely.”
“Thank you . . . father.”
He heard the catch in my voice and patted me on the head. “You’ll be fine. Just remember to keep your wits about you. Like being around a horse.”
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“When will I be home?”
He looked around. “This is your home now. And Uncle Cedric is your new master. Serve him well.”
A vile odor pervaded the great cabin, and a scabrous, hatchet-faced man followed on.
“I am Coutts, ship’s purser, here to enter the boy’s name. You may leave now, sir.”
Father tousled my hair. “You’re a good lad. You’ll do well.” He shook my hand. “Well . . . it’s good-bye then, son.”
It was the last time I saw my father.
The purser watched him leave, then spread his ledger on the table, set out an ink pot and blotter, dressed his quill and began.
“Name?”
“Owen Thomas Harriet, sir.”
“Date of birth?”
“April third, sir.”
He wrote it down, then paused.
“Year boy! Say what year!”
“1786, sir.”
“Hmm. Another mere child. Very well, your Home Port will be listed as Portsmouth and you will be rated as landsman.”
He blotted the entries and gathered his things, then eyed the purse, still in my hand, and reached out his ink stained hand.
“The purse, boy. Give it to me.”
I shifted instinctive to put the table between us.
“I say give it. You have no need of money onboard of here.”
I shook my head and he rounded the table, but I circled away, keeping the table between us until I reached the open door.
“God’s balls! I’ll have that purse, boy!”
He lunged for me and I ran out, avoiding the marine on sentry duty outside the cabin, and into the biggest man I’d ever seen. Eighteen hands or more, and twenty stone. He grabbed my collar and with one hand lifted me off the deck to regard me eye-to-eye. I stiffened frightful, believing my father had made a dreadful mistake by leaving me in this place. But the fellow’s manner and his wide-set grey eyes, although piercing, calmed me some. He sensed my initial fear and then felt me relax, if only slightly, and he smiled. He had a bronzed, clean shaven face and long silver-white hair braided in a queue. An over big nose, flattened and bent, and broad cheek bones. Thick, colourless lips with a thin, white scar slicing through them. His breath smelled of something foreign, though not unpleasant. He considered me for a bit longer, then boomed his voice deep.
“Say your name.”
I said it and he put me down.
“You’ll be the captain’s new cabin boy.”
“Yes, sir. Aye, sir.”
The purser shot past.
“I see you’ve met Coutts.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I’m not a sir. I’m Captain Cedric’s coxsun. Ajax. You were running from Coutts. Why?”
“He wanted my purse, sir.”
“Do you still have it?”
“Aye, Ajax”
“Good. Be leery of Coutts, boy. It’s not just your purse he’s after.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well then. Captain Cedric says you are to be educated, so now it’s begun.”
He guided me back into the great cabin, moving in an easy grace, though stooped to avoid knocking the beams. He went to a cabinet direct, withdrew a chamois and unwrapped a pistol so monstrous big it filled his giant hand. He examined the thing, then locked back the frizzen, cleared the flashpan and touch hole, adjusted the flint and set the half-cock, talking all the while.
“This pistol is a French Prélat. A fine piece, taken from the first lieutenant aboard the frigate Pomone after she surrendered to Galatea. Captain Cedric was a lieutenant aboard Galatea at the time, and he commanded the boarding party that forced Pomone to strike.”
“I know! Mum was most proud for him. She said his name was in Dispatches. That’s in the Gazette, Ajax, and it said my uncle was . . .”
“Belay!”
I’d not heard that word before—belay. But certain from his bark Ajax was not pleased.
“He is your uncle, but you will refer to him as Captain Cedric. Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.”
“And you will not speak unless told to speak. Do you understand that, as well?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then I’ll proceed. Captain Cedric was rewarded for his service that day with this Prélat. He always takes it to sea now, as a reminder. And to insure it functions properly when needed his standing order for me is to inspect, fire and clean it every day at noon.”
He charged the gun most generous and lightly tamped it down, then placed a greased wad over its muzzle and rammed home with lead shot. He primed the flashpan, closed the frizzen, and placed the Prélat on the bench under the stern gallery. He swung open the windows and turned back to me.
“Now listen sharp, for this is your chain of command. You serve the King, God bless him, and in all respects it is His Majesty to whom you must ultimately answer. However, while on board Eleanor you will answer to me first. If I’m not to be found, or if I have no special orders for you, then you will follow your general orders for Captain Cedric. Do you know what general orders are?”
“No, sir.”
“They are orders to be memorized and followed without direct command. I will give them to you now. Memorize them. I expect you to know and follow them without having to be reminded. Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir. I think so, sir.”
“Very well. Unless ordered to do otherwise you will locate and then stay near Captain Cedric at all times while you are on duty. Wherever he stands you will stand by him, to the left and three paces back. If he goes onto the shrouds you will follow him onto the shrouds. If he goes below you will follow him below. See what he sees. Hear what he hears. If he says fetch someone or if he says bring him something, then you will fetch and bring. If for some reason you can’t then you will find me and I will help you. No matter what, you will never return to the captain in failure. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Ajax. But . . .”
“Speak up, boy. Now is the time to ask questions.”
“The shrouds, Ajax. What are they?”
“When the time comes I will show you. But first you must know this. On a warship your duties will change quickly and often, and will not always be subject to orders. There is no way of predicting what might happen next. I don’t expect you to understand this. Not yet. Just keep in mind that now you live onboard a ship. A ship of war. And it is a different life. Do you follow?”
“No, sir.”
He placed his huge hand on my shoulder. “You must try.”
He bent low then, to slide out a deep drawer built into the starboard bunk, removing a draw-string sack and setting it on the escritoire careful. He opened the sack and took out a brass instrument, buffing it with a chamois. He looked at me.
“Good. I see you have an interest. Do you know what this is?”
“A sextant, sir. I saw one once. In a shop.”
>
“Aye. This one belongs to Captain Cedric. But there are many onboard. You’ll see them often.”
He stepped to another drawer secured by a strong lock, sprung it with a wire key looped around his neck, and withdrew a small, ebony box inlaid with ivory. “And the sextant is used with this.”
He opened the box. It was lined in black velvet and contained a shiny brass disk. I’d not seen an object like it before, and my puzzlement must have shown on my face.
“This is a chronometer. A time piece, boy.”
“Oh! Aye, sir.”
He took it out smart, cupped in his huge hands, and opened its lid. “This chronometer also belongs to Captain Cedric. An expensive instrument. And fussy. Even the best of them tend to fail over time. There are six onboard Eleanor, and that is rare. Many ships have only three. Or none at all.”
He wound the chronometer, his huge fingers tightening its spring careful slow, then secured it in his left hand and picked up the pistol, aiming out the stern gallery windows. When the chronometer showed twelve o-clock he drew back the cock and sent it down sparking off a crashing loud report. A billow of pungent, yellow-grey smoke engulfed the cabin, stinging my eyes and filling my nose. I gagged. My ears rang, just barely hearing as eight bells sounded from above on the quarterdeck.
“Noon. Exactor, “Ajax said low.
I coughed and sneezed, wiping my eyes and searching for Ajax through the smoke.
“Breathe it, boy. Learn to love it. You’re on a man-o’-war.”
I spewed a bit more, then managed a weak, “Aye, sir.”
“Now then, do you have more questions?”
“No, sir. But . . .”
“But what? You will speak up, boy.”
“Aye, sir. Why do you shoot the gun at noon, sir?”
“Because noon precise is the hour chosen by the Royal Navy for the daily sighting. And all ships must know the precise time in order to navigate. There’s more, so you must pay attention at all times.”
“Aye, sir.”
The smoke thinned and I found to my pleasure that I had begun to like it, and laughed.