‘American,’ he said.
‘Beg pardon, sir.’ The man with the handcart beside him looked confused.
‘Nothing. You can take the sea chest on board,’ David told him. Walking slowly down the length of the ship he drank in all her detail. God, she was beautiful. Also crowded, her complement of 110 men plus his marines would find her pretty hull somewhat cramped.
‘Good evening, sir,’ Peterson called from the deck. ‘Welcome to the Challenger.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Peterson,’ David replied, touching his hat to the quarterdeck as he stepped on board.
CHAPTER 2
‘Are my officers all here?’
‘They are, sir, with the exception of the surgeon,’ Peterson answered formally.
‘Very well. Have them come to my cabin in thirty minutes.’ David went below. Compared to his cabin in the Dancer, Challenger’s aft cabin was large, although the headroom was not much greater. David could stand between the deck beams against the aft windows but had to stoop when he first came through the door.
There was a small desk and chair in the middle of the cabin, padded seating under the stern windows and a cot behind a partition on the starboard side. He was surprised to find no stern chasers. A small door in the forward bulkhead on the larboard side he presumed led to the standard bucket.
David unclipped his sword and threw it and his coat onto the cot, before sitting at his desk. A great feeling of wellbeing came over him. For the first time he felt like Captain Fletcher.
There was a knock on the side door, which opened and a young boy put his head somewhat timidly into the room. He was not more than five feet tall and very thin; his pallor was almost white. With his brown hair tied back in a ponytail he looked very young.
‘Would you be wanting something, sir?’ he said with a Welsh accent.
‘Who are you?’
‘Jones, sir, your cabin servant,’ the boy replied.
‘Thank you, Jones, nothing at the moment,’ David said. ‘Where does that door lead to?’
‘It leads to the pantry, sir.’
‘I see. Where is the bucket?’
‘Oh, through that door and the door on the side, sir.’ Jones waved his hand in the direction of amidships.
‘Thank you, Jones.’ David smiled. ‘How old are you?’
‘Fourteen, sir.’
‘How long have you been on board the Challenger?’
‘Two years, sir. I ran powder at first, sir.’
‘Do you like being cabin servant?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The boy looked down at his feet.
‘My officers will be coming here in a moment. Do we have any wine?’
‘No, sir. Captain Rockwell took it all with him, sir.’
‘Very well. You can sort out the cabin later.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ The boy backed out through the door, closing it behind him.
Mr. Clark, the first lieutenant, a tall, gangly-looking young man with a hooked nose, introduced the officers once they had all filed into the cabin.
Peterson as second, a Lieutenant Michael was third and Lieutenant Hugh, who had a great shock of red hair, was fourth. Mr. Martin was lieutenant of marines and had Chaney standing beside him. Then there were four midshipmen, Smyth, Carpenter, Daniels and a very young-looking Mr. St. George. The sailing master Mr. Samuel, the oldest of the gathering, was a Cornishman in his fifties and was supported by his two mates Davis and Vernon.
‘I’m sorry I can offer you no refreshment, gentlemen,’ David began. ‘We seem to be a little low on cabin stores; something I will put in hand immediately.
‘I understand that some of you have been in the Challenger for some time. Your experience will, I’m sure, be of great value. As to our orders I can tell you very little at this moment. We will be detached from the fleet and our cruise will be an extended one.
‘I appreciate that Mr. Martin’s marines will make things a little crowded below decks, but I assure you they will be very welcome when the shot begins to fly.
‘I will come to know you all over the next few months as you will come to know me.
‘Mr. Clark, in the morning I would like your reports on the ship’s state of readiness and the standing of the crew. Very well, gentlemen, that will be all. Would you remain for a few moments, Mr. Peterson?’
As the cabin door closed David shook hands with Peterson. Two years younger than David, the lieutenant was a picture of good health. His dark brown hair hung long to the shoulder. His body was muscular and his skin, tanned to a light brown, made his grey eyes seem to shine. He looked very much like his dead uncle who had been one of David’s previous captains in the sloop Trojan.
‘It’s good to see you again, Stephen,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’
‘I’m very happy to see you, sir,’ Peterson replied, ‘and looking so well.’
‘Chaney told me about the Trojan.’ Peterson stopped smiling.
‘It was a bloody business, sir,’ he said. ‘I saw Lieutenant Charles blown in half. By the time the French disengaged, most of the crew were dead. The new French seventy-fours are powerful ships. The old Orion saw her off, but took huge damage. By the time she came back to support us it was too late for the Trojan.’
‘You held off two sloops; that was good stuff.’
‘Yes, sir, we dismasted one of them. The Orion towed her back as a prize.’
‘Between us we have a lot of good memories of the Trojan.’
‘Yes, sir, and some bad ones,’ Peterson said.
After a few moments’ silence David said, ‘Tomorrow I would like you to take young Jones into the town and buy some wine for the cabin, Stephen. I think you know our taste.’
‘Gladly, sir, how much wine should I buy?’
‘At a guess, Stephen, it will be many months before the Challenger sees a port where we can buy wine. Buy plenty and some brandy. I presume the ship has a good supply of rum?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Peterson grinned. ‘Twenty barrels.’ David opened a small drawer in the desk and handed Peterson a purse.
As the second lieutenant left there was a bang from behind the pantry door. On investigation David found Jones and a carpenter’s mate driving hooks into the bulkhead. ‘What’s this?’ he inquired.
‘Hooks for my hammock,’ Jones informed him.
‘I see. Where do you usually sleep?’ Jones looked down at the deck; the carpenter looked embarrassed.
‘Captain Rockwell liked me to sleep in his cabin, sir,’ Jones whispered. For a moment David did not understand what he was being told.
As understanding dawned he stepped back into his cabin. ‘Come in here, Jones,’ he said and then, ‘Carry on,’ to the carpenter. Closing the door he asked, ‘Did you like this arrangement?’
‘No, sir.’ The boy looked miserable.
‘Do you wish to remain as cabin servant or would you prefer to go back to your mates?’
‘I would like to stay here, sir.’ Jones was beginning to cry.
‘Then you shall and, Jones, I assure you nothing like this will ever happen again.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The boy smiled up at him.
‘Very well, go and finish the arrangements for your hammock.’ As the boy left David sat down at his desk; he was in shock. He had always thought captains the most noble of men. For Rockwell to have taken advantage of a young boy was beyond belief.
The following morning David was called to the port office. Lieutenant Clark had handed him four long lists of requirements as he left the ship.
Admiral Collins was tall and thin and carried the air of a man with great responsibility and very little time.
‘How do you find the Challenger?’ he asked, whilst shuffling papers on his desk.
‘From what I’ve seen of her, sir, she seems very fine,’ David replied.
‘Built in the colonies,’ the Admiral continued. ‘You have to get her off the quay, Fletcher, I’ve no room at present. Sort yourself out and anchor off. Your first lieutenant has ha
d three weeks; you should be damned nigh ready to sail.’
‘I have some lists, sir,’ David began.
‘Yes, yes, give them to my flag lieutenant on your way out.’ The admiral waved towards the door and went back to his papers.
In the outer office David gave his lists to a young officer who smiled at him and promised to put them in hand.
‘Try to get off the quay by the end of the week,’ he said. ‘That will keep him happy.’
As he walked back through the dockyard David noted the high level of activity: there were twelve ships of the line in sight as well as two smaller vessels. Looking over the wall David counted some sixteen ships anchored off.
Back on board the Challenger, Mr. Clark took him on a tour of the ship, pointing out recent works and any small failings as they moved from forward to aft.
‘How long have you been in the Challenger?’ David asked his first officer.
‘Almost a year, sir,’ Clark replied.
‘What do you think of her?’
‘She’s a good ship, sir, fast and powerful, but you have to watch her to windward. With too much canvas she tends to run away with you and lay her rail deep in the water. Captain Rockwell never carried t’gallants to windward, sir.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Clark, I’ll remember that,’ David told him.
On the quarterdeck Peterson waited with Jones. ‘I have thirty cases of wine and ten casks of brandy,’ Peterson announced.
‘Can we stow that much in the cabin, Jones?’ David asked.
‘Yes, sir.’ Jones grinned. ‘There’s plenty of room beneath the cabin sole, sir.’
As the boy went through the cabin hatchway Clark said, ‘What’s got into Jones? I’ve never seen him smile before.’
The Challenger was twelve short in her company. The port office had promised to provide the necessary crew and sure enough along the quay came a line of men all shackled together, straight from the local jail. Their clothes were ragged and all looked in need of a good meal. David made a mental note to have the ship’s surgeon look them over, if and when the surgeon arrived.
Three guards pushed the men onto the deck. ‘Keep them under lock and key until you are out of sight of land,’ one of them advised David. ‘If you don’t they will jump over the side.’
A steady stream of bails, barrels and sacks continued to arrive throughout the day and by evening the sloop looked like a cargo ship. The next day was much the same and as the confusion mounted David retreated to his cabin and began going over the ship’s papers. Halfway through the noon watch, Chaney knocked on his cabin door.
‘Midshipman St. George’s mother is on the quay, sir, asking to speak with you,’ he said with a big grin.
‘Tell her I’m busy,’ David told him.
‘I think you would want to see this lady, sir,’ Chaney replied.
‘Oh god,’ David said. ‘Alright, ask her to step aft.’
The woman who walked through his cabin door took David’s breath away.
Short with a tiny waist, her gown showed off her perfect figure and her face was so beautiful that it dragged his eyes away from her firm-looking breasts for at least a second. ‘Captain,’ she said. ‘I do not wish to disturb you.’
‘Madam,’ David replied, ‘you are very welcome. Please be seated.’
‘It is just that Francis is all that I have since my husband died and it would help me so much to know a little of the people he sails with.’
David was lost. If this woman had asked for his right leg he would have given it with pleasure. ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘how can I help?’
‘Would you dine with me tonight, Captain? Perhaps Francis could also be spared from his duty to join us.’
‘It would give me great pleasure, madam,’ David found himself saying.
‘Wonderful.’ She rose from her chair. ‘I will not take up any more of your valuable time, Captain. I will send my carriage at eight if that is convenient?’
‘I look forward to it, madam.’
As he escorted the lady onto the quay, David could not help noticing the huge grin on Chaney’s face.
‘Don’t say anything,’ he told him as he walked back to his cabin.
‘Just hoping you will remember your friends this time, sir,’ Chaney whispered.
‘Ask Midshipman St. George to come aft, will you?’ David told him as he closed the cabin door.
The lad who knocked on his door some minutes later was small and thin; he looked all of twelve years old.
‘Mr. St. George, your mother has been to see me, as you probably know, and has kindly invited both of us to dinner this evening.
Would you please dress accordingly and come to this cabin just before eight o’clock?’
The boy looked worried. ‘Aye aye, sir,’ he said.
That evening a beautiful, black-lacquered coach took them out of town on the Chichester road and turned in at a large house surrounded by laid-out gardens. The St. Georges were obviously moneyed people. Dinner was served by a liveried butler in a large dining room with portraits on every wall. Mrs. St. George talked of her life in India with her late husband. He had been one of the first traders to move into the Northern provinces, she said, and had died of fever some eight years before.
As the night wore on Francis fell asleep on a couch and Mrs. St. George suggested that they move into a smaller more comfortable room. She sat beside David and spoke of the loneliness of a woman on her own. David realized that he was being seduced. His first thought was that she was one of his officer’s mothers and that he should leave, but then her hand ran up his leg and all was lost. They made love on the thick carpet in front of the fire.
‘Stay the night,’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Madam, I cannot,’ he told her. ‘Your reputation, your son.’
‘Then promise you will return before your ship leaves.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will try.’ On the journey back to the dockyard David had trouble looking the midshipman in the eye.
The following morning saw more stores piled onto the deck. There was also a message from the admiral. ‘Get off the quay.’
High water being a little before noon David had a line rowed off to a buoy in the middle of the harbour and during slack water they warped the ship off of the quay.
Once up to the buoy they transferred the line aft and with the first of the ebb the Challenger swung her bow towards the harbour entrance.
‘Set your topsails, Mr. Samuel,’ David told his sailing master, ‘and take us out to the anchorage.’ The breeze was light and David was concerned that the tide would take them onto the harbour wall if they could not get steerage way onto the ship in time. He need not have worried. The Challenger leapt forward like a dog released from a trap and by the time they approached the harbour entrance David judged her at five knots.
They set foresails and spanker and rushed down the fairway in fine style. It was with some regret that David had the ship round up to the longboat that marked their anchorage and drop anchor.
‘She moves well, Mr. Samuel,’ David told the sailing master.
‘Aye, sir.’ He smiled. ‘She’s lively enough.’
Two days later David was ordered to the port office. ‘I will be back before dark,’ he told Lieutenant Clark as he climbed down the ship’s side. Midshipman Smyth commanded the gig. ‘Pull for the west steps,’ David ordered. ‘This should not take too long.’
When he entered the office, however, the lieutenant told him he would be needed for some time and that it would be better if he made arrangements to spend the night ashore. David felt a twinge of guilt at the idea that immediately sprang into his mind. Having sent the gig back to the ship David paid a boy from the local inn to ride to the St. George household with a note.
Back in the office he was shown into a small, richly decorated room and asked to wait.
After some two hours David was surprised to see Admiral Keyton walk through the door. He was accompanied by two other gent
lemen. The first was a portly, red-faced man with large side whiskers and a black top coat. His companion was a priest. The admiral waved David, who had stood up, back into his seat.
‘Fletcher, this is Sir John Weaver and the Reverend Hargreaves,’ he said. ‘They would talk with you about your coming voyage.’
The reverend started immediately. ‘There is,’ he said, ‘a curse on our souls that offends the eye of god. An evil trade in human lives, the greed of the few destroying the lives of thousands; people treated like animals, like goods at barter.’ As he paused for breath Sir John joined in.
‘Lieutenant Fletcher,’ he said. ‘In the future there will be no slavery. It is my hope that in our lifetime we shall see this trade made illegal and fine young officers like yourself will be able to hunt the evil traders down.’ David felt a sense of relief; for a moment he thought they were blaming him for the slave trade.
Admiral Keyton held up a hand to quieten the other two men.
‘What we need, Mr. Fletcher, is information. There are some very powerful men sitting in parliament who have interests in the slave trade. Before we can start to move against them we must be very sure of ourselves. This cruise of yours will take you into the very heart of their operations. Find their bases, map their organizations and if possible, bring us names of ship owners and financiers.’
He looked David in the eye. ‘I’m sending you to hunt the French and undercover of this you can begin the end of slavery.’
As David took his borrowed horse out onto the Chichester road he considered all he had been told. The meeting had gone on for some time longer whilst Keyton had given him as much information as he had. The priest had ranted on again and Sir John had beseeched him to put his every effort into the cause. Although what he could really achieve David was not sure. He had never given much thought to the plight of slaves, he realized.
When he arrived at the St. George house, a stable boy was waiting to take his horse.
The butler showed him into the library, where Mrs. St. George, Mary, awaited him. After kissing him hard on the lips she took his hand and led him into a hallway and up a flight of stairs. Her bedroom was large and pink, all frills and lace. The bed was huge and very soft. Their entwined bodies sank into the feather mattress, drawing them into a sex-filled cocoon. Mary’s needs were almost desperate, her love-making frantic at times, gentle at others. She whispered endearments and towards dawn quietly cried. As she slept in his arms David reflected on how lonely this woman was.
By the Knife Page 20