by Lee Henschel
“I am Don Antonio de la Quendo Gravina Nuestra de Cordoba y Ramosa. You may call me Captain Ramosa. I do not require translation. I have lived on your island and am familiar your vulgar tongue.”
“I understand your injuries are slight.”
“That is correct.”
“Excellent! Then you shall hang in good health.”
Ramosa stood himself indignant proud. “I remind you that I have surrendered. It is not permissible to hang me.”
“You struck and then fired a gun into us. That is an offense for which hanging is not only permissible, but encouraged.”
“An unfortunate incident. The gun was discharged by my first officer. He was non compos mentis.”
“What does that mean, Captain Ramosa?”
“The man was insane. For the last week I had confined him to his quarters. He escaped just after we surrendered and took charge of the stern gun. He fired on you before anyone understood his intentions. It was he who was responsible for this offense, and you have killed him. The matter has resolved itself.”
“It has not resolved itself. You were his captain and you are ultimately responsible for the actions of your officers and men.”
I shook my head once more. Captain Cedric’s voice came strange and wavy, fading away. I stumbled dizzy. My stomach roiled most bilious.
“I am guilty of nothing! I demand parole this very instant.”
“There will be no parole.”
“But I insist!”
“You will be delivered to the proper authorities for interrogation.”
“I will answer none of their questions.”
“Then you will hang sooner rather than later.”
Ramosa stood even taller. “And the Church shall hang you! You will rot in hell along with your anti-papist king!”
“And your new warlord as well . . . it was Bonaparte who took your pope as prisoner and even now holds him captive in Valence.”
Ramosa puffed himself. “By God! You would have grounded on Socabo but that you have sold yourself to the Devil!”
I believe he was about to spit in Captain Cedric’s face. So did Marley, for the sergeant-at-arms moved expeditious, shattering the Spaniard’s jaw with the butt of his dragon, and Don Antonio de la Quendo Gravina Nuestra de Cordoba y Ramosa crashed to the deck. As did I.
Chapter Nine
I awoke in the spare bunk in the great cabin. Mr. Starling was gently shaking me. I tried to sit up.
“As you were, Harriet. I’ve come to see how you are.”
“Reggie’s killed.”
“Yes. We buried him at sea yesterday afternoon, along with Private Leslie.”
“Reggie dead.”
“Yes. I don’t know how I will break the news to his good father. Reggie showed great promise. I will miss him, and so will you.”
“They killed him with the cannon. It just missed me. I still feel the heat of it. It hit Reggie. Not me.”
“You were lucky. Reggie was not. Now look me in the eye and tell me how you feel.”
“Better, sir. I feel better.”
“Good. I gave you too much opium. It was dosed for a man, not a boy.”
I looked around. “Why am I in the great cabin?”
“After you passed out a marine brought you to your space and dumped you on the deck. Gottlieb carried you in here. That was last night. Now you must get up and make yourself presentable. The captain will read from the Articles of War, and he’s pressed for time.”
“Articles?”
“It’s actually a hearing of sorts. A captain’s prerogative. Its purpose is to hear charges, present evidence, and dispense justice. It’s usually held in the waist, around the mainmast so that the crew may witness it. But this hearing is to be held in Captain Cedric’s quarters because there will be a plenary session directly after. And you will be present for both. Now Harriet . . . you must be sure to keep your mouth shut until they ask you to say something.”
I moved about most unsteady, listening to the bustle of Eleanor’s routine. Above, on the quarterdeck I heard orders for Eleanor to haul her wind and flag Isadora to close. Peering out the gallery window I watched the brig close to within hailing distance. Rainey, who had a most thunderous voice, summoned Botherall to Eleanor. Isadora lowered her long boat and rowed Botherall across. Botherall was a portly one, and struggled on Eleanor’s tumblehome. When he cleared the entry port he was ordered to the great cabin direct. Marley came for me and I was escorted along the gun deck. The captain’s door was shut tight. Muted conversation came from within and I stood there waiting, wondering what I’d done wrong now, to be delivered by the likes of Marley. I asked him as much. But he was a grim one, and stood silent. Soon the door opened and I was called in. Captain Cedric sat at his desk. Rainey stood to his right, Mr. Lau to his left, and Botherall to the left of him . . . barely enough room left for a cabin boy. The captain began.
“State your name.”
“Owen Harriet.”
“Ship’s surgeon states you are fit to stand for Articles of War and has explained its purpose to you. Is this so?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well. We shall make this quick. You stand for the following charges.
Charge One: On Six April of this year, 1798, Midshipman Pogue placed your name on report for failure to arrive on time for morning watch.”
My mind went back to that morning, only my second day aboard Eleanor, and the day I met Reggie, and his cat, Georgie. “Has anyone fed Georgie today?”
Captain Cedric stopped short and rocked in his chair. I hung my head, knowing sure he’d tell me now to shut my mouth. Instead, he cleared his throat and went on.
“Charge Two: Later on that same day Ajax reports you fought with the other ship’s boys.”
Ajax said I might stand for these charges, and it seemed now the thing was happening. Captain Cedric went on.
“Charge Three: On Fifteen May . . . yesterday . . . when we cleared for action to engage Santa Isadora you failed to report to your action station is due time.”
I wanted to speak out once more, but this time I remembered to be quiet.
“In regard to charges one and two . . . Ajax has put in a word for you. He states that the previous evening he told you to report to him the next morning. But the next morning he was not onboard Eleanor and you didn’t realize you were to report to Mr. Pogue. As for fighting amongst ranks, there are . . . mitigating circumstances. So, out of consideration of your youth and inexperience, I shall overlook the first two charges. However, for your failure to report to your action station in due time I hereby dock your pay by one half of one pound. To be taken out in equal portions over one year’s time.”
I gasped. Half of one pound was nearly all of my pay ticket for a year. Of a sudden I became most grateful for the few bob my father had given me. Captain Cedric studied my shocked expression but made no further remarks. Instead, he announced that the hearing would now proceed to other matters.
“We will go on to plenary session now . . . to address a more pressing issue. Although this meeting is unofficial I remind all officers and warrants present to enter into your logs a detailed and accurate account of these proceedings.”
He leaned forward to address me. “Harriet, on the evening of Fourteen May of this year you claim to have overheard Midshipman William Pogue and Ship’s Purser Mr. Émile Coutts discussing in certain and specific detail the beating, death, and jettisoning of the boy named Tate, a stowaway. Do you still make that claim?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well. I have questioned Mr. Pogue and Mr. Coutts. They both maintain they are innocent of any wrong doing. Mr. Pogue states he knew Tate and, as midshipman charged with overseeing all ship’s boys, he was trying to improve him. He states that after Ushant he knew Tate was unaccounted for and was concerned the boy might have been swept overboard in the storm. He further states that he is remorseful for not having reported his concerns, but he believes that you have made up thi
s tall tale and have named him because you are upset with him for ordering you to swab out the head and then, later, for putting you on report. And although he would not say as much, I believe Mr. Pogue thinks there is nepotism at play here and, because you are my nephew, I will permit these false accusations. As for Mr. Coutts . . . he disavows any knowledge of the incident whatsoever. And although he is also remorseful of Tate’s disappearance and assumed death he is indignant for having been named in this matter.
“These two men have each given statements this morning. We’ve just now heard from Midshipman Botherall regarding what you told him about Tate. And now we shall hear from you. Proceed.”
Finally! I’d waited overlong for this chance, and was most thankful for the moment. I told all, starting just after the Sukiyama, and this time including what Coutts wanted from me. I was ashamed, and spoke in low murmurs, and was ordered to speak up. This time they listened and did not yell at me to shut my mouth! When I finished they remained quiet. The captain creaked in his chair waiting for me to say more. But I could not.
“Very well. Mr. Botherall, you will rejoin Isadora now. You will not discuss this session with anyone aboard Isadora. All others return to your duties except Harriet.”
When they left he studied me most serious before he spoke. “I brought you onboard as my cabin boy because you are my sister’s son and your family is facing financial ruin. I see now that it may have been a mistake.”
“Sir . . .”
“Don’t interrupt me, Owen. Just listen. For once . . . just . . . listen. I want you to understand something. The charges against you did not merit special attention, but I conducted this hearing for the very fact that you are my nephew. Word of my decision will spread through the ship now, and the men will know you have been held accountable, captain’s nephew notwithstanding. Do you understand that?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good. As for what you claim to have overheard on the orlop . . . I have no cause to doubt your testimony. Pogue and Coutts are both shady and quite capable of violence and you were right to have reported the matter. However, when all is said and done, there are still no witnesses, no body, and no admission of guilt. Further investigation would waste time and resources and would lead nowhere.”
“Then you . . . you will do nothing?”
“I will do no more than I already have. The matter has been put to rest.”
“But why would they say the thing if didn’t happen?”
“They claim not to have said it.”
“But they did! I heard Coutts say he beat Tate. I heard Pogue say he threw him over. And if you don’t . . . if you don’t do something . . . then I hate you! I must hate you! And the Spaniard, he was right!”
My uncle narrowed his eyes. “Explain yourself, boy.”
“He said you became sold to the Devil.”
It fell silent in the cabin. Muted conversations drifted from above, joining the creaks and groans of Eleanor.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Quiet, Owen, and consider this. These words of yours—they come through you, but they do not come from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are my sister’s son, the grandchild of my mother, and what you accuse me of is what my own mother warned me never to do . . . when I first went to sea to fight in His Majesty’s wars.”
“I didn’t mean to accuse, sir. It’s not my place.”
“No matter, for you are right. I have sold something of myself to the Devil, as any captain of a warship must. But I’ve not sold my soul.”
“Yes, sir. I mean aye, sir. Of course, sir. I’m still sorry I said it though . . . and that I hated you.”
“Everyone on this ship hates me, boy. I’m the captain.”
He dusted his sleeves and drew a deep breath.
“Soon we shall rendezvous with the Cadiz Squadron. When I first heard of your accusations against Mr. Pogue and Mr. Coutts I thought it best to remove you from the ship, to ask Admiral Tiverton to find a place for you in his squadron . . . preferably on a ship returning to Portsmouth. But he would ask why, and I wish to keep this matter onboard, at least for now. So you will stay onboard Eleanor. And you’re to be given additional duties.”
“What duties, sir?”
“Gottlieb tells me he’s involved you in his plans for Otra Nova. I’ve objected to that. You are too young, and I would override him but he’s more than just a passenger and he expects to have his way. And so he will.”
“He wants me because I grew up with horses, sir.”
“I’m sure others on Eleanor know horses as well.”
“Aye, sir. Maybe not Arabians, though. And Gottlieb . . . he says I still smell like a horse, sir.”
“There is that. But there’s another reason for you to remain on Eleanor. The Sailing Master has spoken for you. Mr. Lau has noticed your way with numbers and is curious. He wishes to cultivate your talent.”
“Oh! Aye, sir. I’ll try my best for you, sir. But, does Mr. Lau know I can’t read, sir?”
“He does, and you’re lucky there. He’s willing to help correct that. So each day at the start of morning watch you will have an hour of lessons with Mr. Lau . . . reading and navigation.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you! Sir!
“One more thing, Harriet.”
“Aye, sir?”
“The false bottom in Gottlieb’s sea trunk . . . I wish to know what’s in it before we make Gibraltar. Dismissed.”
At first light I awoke in my hammock and felt most pleased to be in it! I asked after Reggie in my prayers, and then Tate, and then it was time to rouse myself and tend my first lesson! I entered Mr. Lau’s quarters and sat on a stool next to him while he finished writing in his log. He set down his quill and turned to me.
“Now then, Harriet. You are here for your lessons.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well. Do you know the names of the letters?”
“A little, sir. Mum taught me some. And Reggie . . . he let me watch when he wrote his ledger. I can’t remember them all, though. The letters I mean.”
“Well now you shall learn them all. And in order.”
He gave me a sheet of foolscap with a long string of letters written on it. “These are the letters of our alphabet.”
“I know! Twenty-six! That’s a great many, sir. And it’s most clever how you’ve listed them all in a row. Are they always in the same order, sir?”
“Of course. But it wasn’t me who first listed them in a row, although I thank you for thinking as much.”
“Oh. Who was it then, sir . . . who made them all in order?”
“Well I must say, no one’s ever asked me that before, and I don’t have a ready answer, but I will tell you this. Our alphabet comes from ancient ruins. The fifth century Anno Domini. Or there abouts.”
“Is that a long time, sir?”
“Aye. A long time. Now you must copy them out.” He gave me another scrap of foolscap and a stub of pencil. “Proceed.”
I wrote laborious, a half hour or so, and turned my letters in for inspection.
He adjusted his glasses and peered at my work. “A bit wobbly, but a start.” He gave it back. “This list is yours to keep, Harriet, and you must keep it handy.”
I accepted the foolscap. My hands trembled, this was the first bit of paper that was my very own. Ever! And with my own writing upon it.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You must memorize the letters of the alphabet if you wish to refine your understanding of the world around you. Having your letters is the start, don’t you see? Knowing your letters will nourish your hungry mind. It is your portal into inductive reasoning, and the science of man.”
I understood nothing of inductive reasoning but thought to thank him just the same.
“Very well, then. We shall go on.” He wrote down a word and handed it to me. “Can you pronounce those letters?”
I studied them overlong, then
looked at Mr. Lau defeated.
“No need for you to lament, lad. You are here to learn, I will say them, and you repeat. B-e-l-l.”
I repeated them.
“Correct. That word spells the name of something you hear every half hour aboard Eleanor.”
“Oh! Is it bell, sir?”
“Aye. Now you know what the word bell looks like. Write it down.”
I wrote it. The first word I’d ever written! Bell! I was most proud.
“So begins a proper understanding of the world, lad. But in order to stay abreast you must always take notice of all things around you. Pronounce them, spell them out as best you can. And most important, write them out. Do you understand?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well. That’s enough of letters for now, except one last thing. You have many questions, Harriet, and that is good. Now I have one for you. A riddle of sorts.” He scratched away on another scrap and handed it to me. “I will pronounce these letter and you repeat them. G-H-O-T-I.”
I repeated them.
“Correct. Now pronounce the word.”
I frowned, as I’d not seen the word before, so could not guess how to say it, or know its meaning. “I don’t know how to say that word, sir.”
“It’s pronounced ghoti. Say it.”
“Ghoti.”
“Aye, that’s right.”
“I’ve not heard that word before, sir. What is it?”
“You already know what the word means . . . only we pronounce it differently. But when you learn how to pronounce ghoti in a different way, then you will begin to understand something more about our written language.”
Chapter Ten
After my lessons I made for the great cabin direct.
“Good day to you Gottlieb, sir.”
“Young Harriet, have you ever tasted coffee?”