A Ship for The King

by Richard Woodman

  ‘Might we not need that if we were intending a short voyage to Spain, sir?’ said Faulkner.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Quinn quickly, ‘and the promise of a short voyage is inducement enough.’

  ‘We’ll have to break it, though,’ ruminated Strange, ‘and I do not like to mislead men.’

  ‘They will understand if the enterprise goes well, Cap’n.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Strange, ‘and if it goes ill, they will not forgive me my deception’.

  Quinn laughed. ‘’Twill not miscarry, Cap’n Strange. Why, we have seen off the Moors ourselves and didn’t Cap’n Mainwaring do some such thing with his crew when he first went on account? I have certainly heard something of the affair.’

  ‘One does not enquire too deeply in such directions, Mr Quinn,’ Strange said quickly.

  ‘Maybe not, Captain, but if we go in goodly company with the King’s ships, how can we fail?’

  But they did fail and a year later Kit Faulkner stood once again before his benefactor, having been summoned to attend Sir Henry Mainwaring when the Swallow arrived home. Mainwaring was fuller in the face than Kit remembered, but retained his kindly, encouraging smile and it was difficult to cast him as a former pirate. For his part, Mainwaring noticed the greater change evident in the younger man who, for all his youth, had matured both physically and intellectually.

  ‘Well, Mr Rat, you have grown mightily. Pray be seated . . . A glass of wine . . .’ Mainwaring proffered a glass brimful of a rich Oporto.

  They sat for a moment and then Mainwaring asked his protégé, ‘I have spoken to Sir Robert Mansell as to the Mediterranean enterprise but, tell me, why in your opinion did the expedition miscarry?’

  ‘In my opinion, sir?’

  ‘Aye, in your opinion, Kit. You are not without wits, I think.’

  ‘Well, sir, the place – Algiers, I mean – is formidable. The harbour is protected by a vast mole, well embrasured and filled with artillery enfilading any approach. We were, it has to be admitted, tardy in pressing our suit. Our embassy had failed despite the Dey promising much, but in truth giving us nothing, so we withdrew and then two or three times came again before the place, making sundry demonstrations without effect . . .’ Faulkner appeared to falter and Mainwaring prompted.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘May I speak frankly, sir?’

  ‘Indeed, I would have you so, even if you impute some blame to those of us here at home.’

  ‘That is part of the seat of our dilemma, sir. As time passed and we expected stores and reinforcement, nothing came and the admiral grew exceeding vexed, as did Sir Thomas Button, while Sir Richard Hawkins so fulminated against the inactivity that he seemed sometimes fair set to split himself asunder as I believe he since has . . .’

  ‘Alas, yes,’ Mainwaring said, reflecting on the death of Mansell’s vice admiral. ‘He was beset by a fit in the presence of the Privy Council when informed that his expenses would not be met . . . a sad end for a man who saw action against the Armada . . .’

  ‘I am sorry for it, sir, for he was much esteemed in the fleet.’

  ‘But perhaps past the age for active service?’

  ‘It was said so, sir, among those who pretended to know.’

  ‘So, but you made several attempts to carry the harbour, did you not?’

  ‘Indeed, sir, we spent much time in preparation and practice with fireships, but every time we essayed the venture, the wind turned contrary and when, in desperation, we pressed the attack by boat, we were caught in crossfire and driven off. We set alight but two of the piratical vessels, but those fires were, I believe, put out.’

  Mainwaring nodded, rubbing his chin ruminatively before looking up at the young man. ‘And what part did you take in these proceedings, Kit?’

  ‘I was pretty forward, sir, taking part in the final boat attack.’

  ‘Yes, Captain Strange has written that you earned the approval of Sir Richard on several occasions. That is good, for I want you to leave the Swallow and come into my private service if you are not unwilling.’

  ‘To leave the Swallow . . . ?’ The young man was suddenly uncertain and Mainwaring realized that the little merchantman had provided him with the security of a home, while the prospect of advancement yawned before him as a chasm, full of the unknown. ‘I owe Captain Strange a great deal, Sir Henry,’ Faulkner said awkwardly.

  ‘He knows that,’ Mainwaring responded, ‘but since you have acquitted yourself well, I have other plans for you. It depends upon your inclination, but the country is greatly in want of good sea-officers in the King’s ships and I have it in mind that you should be one of them. I am a Commissioner of the Navy and am empowered to recruit new officers, and would have a proportion of experienced seamen to offset the courtiers that plague the service.’ He paused a moment to allow the import of his proposition to strike home. ‘Come now, what do you say?’ Seeing the lad was confused and hesitant, Mainwaring added, a hint of exasperation in his tone: ‘For heaven’s sake, Mr Rat, you have nothing to fear! I am offering you a future as a gentleman . . . El Dorado awaits you.’

  Faulkner looked at the older man. ‘I understand, Sir Henry, but my lack of means . . . my penury . . .’

  Mainwaring held up a hand and shook his head, smiling. ‘My dear fellow, I perfectly understand your misgivings, but a year in my service will equip you for preferment, that I promise you. Come, what do you say?’

  ‘If you are certain Captain Strange will not think me ungrateful—’ he began, but Mainwaring cut him short.

  ‘Of that I can assure you. He and I are of one mind and while I have no doubt but that he will miss your society and your ability, he can fill the deficiency in the latter well enough in Bristol; as for the former, well that shall be my advantage and recompense for the gamble I took upon your good character and abilities.’

  Looking relieved, Faulkner nodded with a sudden and, for Mainwaring, pleasing decisiveness. ‘Very well, Sir Henry. I am at your service.’

  Mainwaring’s face cracked in a warm smile and he rose to put out his hand. ‘Welcome, Kit, we shall do famously.’

  Thus, for nigh two years Faulkner attended his new master, initially in the capacity of clerk, rapidly improving his ability to write, acquiring a polish in his manners, and learning something of the various projects in which his new master was then engaged. These involved negotiations with the Venetian ambassador (which fell through), and a prolonged engagement with Dover, whither Sir Henry repaired regularly, having been appointed Lieutenant of Dover Castle, Deputy Warden of the Cinque Ports and Member of Parliament for the town. During this period Faulkner was chiefly employed assisting Mainwaring in the writing of his book on seamanship, a dictionary entitled Nomenclator Navalis. By this time Faulkner had become Mainwaring’s private secretary, and while he found the work of interest and grew into the part Mainwaring had cast him, assuming the character of a gentleman who moved in the shadows of important men and acquired a passing acquaintance with the outer circles of the Court of King James, he sometimes pined to go to sea again. There the chores and daily round allowed him to stand upon his own two feet, a watch-keeping officer directing others. Now he was continually subservient, ever on his guard, not against Mainwaring, but wary of some of those among whom his master moved. Mainwaring’s duties were many and varied. He attended and conferred regularly with Lord Zouch, the Governor of Dover Castle with whom he maintained a fractious relationship. Faulkner was involved with arrangements for ordnance, powder and ammunition to be supplied from London, then followed his master to the Assize Court to try French fishermen caught fishing illegally in English waters. But, once having had ambition awakened, Faulkner chafed increasingly at the constraints necessary to his life. If he had been turned into a quasi-gentleman, was apparelled accordingly and spoke with a certain witty and ready tongue, he was yet a whelp to Mainwaring, the old hound and a man of indefatigable energy.

  Sir Henry rarely seemed to take pleasure in anything other
than work, having made himself almost indispensable to the King’s service and, paradoxically, it was this that suddenly ended the stasis in which the irked Faulkner found himself.

  The variety of Mainwaring’s involvement in public affairs led him to make enemies within the castle and he was accused by Lord Zouch of neglect of duty. Hints that he slept outside the castle in order to lie with a woman brought about a heavier suggestion that his resignation would be pleasing to His Lordship. Much amazed, and declaring the charge trumped-up, Mainwaring asserted he indeed sought the company of a woman, but not on the occasion in question. He had, he responded, been assaulted by a troublemaker and afterwards spent the night with an old friend, one Captain Wilsford. It was also true that he was then also raising men for a squadron fitting out for foreign service and therefore his absence from Dover was legitimate. Taking Faulkner with him, he had also waited upon the King at Windsor to discuss with His Majesty the issue of impressments, but Lord Zouch dismissed him, nonetheless, remarking that a man, even a man of Mainwaring’s acknowledged talents, could not properly serve two masters.

  Aware of this furore, Faulkner was apprehensive for Mainwaring’s future as much as for his own. Despite his misgivings, his youthful sights had been raised considerably and he had slowly but inevitably become a victim of his own self-conceit. In due course, his head turned, he had abandoned any idea of returning to his old life sailing out of Bristol, increasingly enamoured of the notion of serving in a King’s ship-of-war.

  In the event Mainwaring had lost nothing in the King’s eyes during his altercations with Lord Zouch. Having made representations to the Earl of Rutland, Mainwaring found himself in receipt of a letter in the King’s own hand. He and Faulkner were lodging in London when it was delivered and, aware of its origin and fearful of its content, the latter watched his master anxiously as Mainwaring cracked open the royal seal. Without looking up and before he had finished reading, he ordered Faulkner to pour two cups of wine. As Faulkner set them on the table, Mainwaring laid the letter down and picked up the wine.

  ‘You are aware that the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham are in Spain, seeking a Spanish Infanta as a bride for Prince Charles, are you not?’

  ‘Indeed, Sir Henry. There has been much talk of it and the fear of Their Highnesses being held hostage by His Most Catholic Majesty.’

  Mainwaring smiled. ‘I should have known better than to have asked,’ he laughed, pleased at his protégé’s grasp of affairs of state. ‘Though the whole affair is a mad-cap adventure wherein the impetuous Buckingham has imperilled the Prince, undone much diplomacy and made something of a fool of the King’s Majesty. But you will know that some of our present business has related to the fitting-out of a squadron intended to proceed to Spain to bring home Their Highnesses.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘But you will not know,’ Mainwaring went on, the fingers of his left hand tapping the King’s letter with a slight and portentous rustle, ‘that I am appointed to command the Prince Royal in which the Earl of Rutland will shortly hoist his flag and take command of the fleet destined for Spain. Moreover, you will not know that I shall appoint you among my lieutenants.’ Mainwaring paused to let the import of his words sink in. Then, looking at Faulkner, he added: ‘By God, this is a long way from foraging for apple cores, Mr Rat!’

  And he was pleased when the lad smiled.

  Two

  The Prince Royal

  Summer 1623

  Mainwaring had joined the Prince Royal at Chatham, leaving Faulkner in London to attend to some domestic affairs relating to their departure. The ship had sailed to Spithead from where, early in July 1623, Faulkner was summoned ‘before the middle of the month’.

  With that attention to detail that marked all his dealings, Mainwaring had given Faulkner a list of instructions enabling him to prepare himself for his new role. These had arrived along with his orders to join Sir Henry in the ship and included an inventory of personal effects with which Faulkner should equip himself. Studying the list made the young man aware of the daunting nature of his new life, and while he had learned to conduct himself with an assumed confidence, he was astute enough to know that in the close company of courtiers he would be found wanting. In his solicitude Mainwaring had addressed this, writing,

  Get thyself a new doublet, some decent boots and some goodish lace. Nothing ostentatious, but of sober and undoubted quality. Match this with some small clothes, for you shall have a servant and none tittle-tattles more. Do not acquire a new sword, that will mark you too obviously, but take mine which I left purposefully for you. Buy also a red sash that will mark you as a new lieutenant – your commission I have with me over the King’s Sign Manual – for there is no dishonour in promotion. Purchase also a decent cuirass; half-armour will be beyond the means I left in your charge, but there will be sufficient funds for a b’plate . . .

  Faulkner hefted the purse Mainwaring had left with him ‘for contingent and other expenses such as I shall advise you of soon’, and smiled grimly to himself.

  ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘there is nothing for it, then,’ and picking up his hat he made to leave upon an expedition to acquire the necessary additions to the stock of his belongings. Pausing on the threshold of his lodgings he regarded his hat and its bedraggled feather. ‘And perhaps a new hat and,’ he added sensibly to himself, ‘a portmanteau of sufficient capacity.’

  Halfway down the stairs he paused again. ‘God’s blood – a servant!’ and with that he strolled out on to the street, whistling softly to himself and mightily pleased.

  Faulkner had only ever seen a King’s ship at a distance and she had been half the size of the Prince Royal. Now, as the hired boat pulled him from the Sally Port towards the anchorage at Spithead, reality bore down heavily upon him as he sat in the boat’s stern sheets, his feet tucked to one side of his portmanteau and his left hand about the satchel containing Mainwaring’s correspondence. The euphoria of the four days begun with the making of his purchases and preparations in London, and ending with his journey in some style (an inside seat in the coach), were whipped away in the breeze that even on a day of brilliant sunshine in high summer, had something of the chill of the distant waters whence it blew. To his disgust, Faulkner’s stomach reminded him it was some time since he had trodden a deck; knowing that his claim to advancement relied upon his professionalism rather than his breeding, he feared a humiliation and in an attempt to overcome his nausea, addressed the nearer of the two straining boatmen.

  ‘Tell me, which is the Prince Royal?’ It was a question he instantly regretted, for he had made it without consideration. The man spat to leeward and raised an eyebrow which, as he leaned forward to ply his oar, gave him the appearance of leering at Faulkner.

  ‘Why, the flagship, o’course . . .’ the man observed with unhelpful contempt.

  Faulkner peered over the undulating shoulders of the two boatmen; the anchorage was crowded with shipping. Coasting vessels and tenders slipped between the larger shapes of men-of-war which were in silhouette against the bright sunlight dancing in reflections off the short, choppy seas cut up by a wind blowing over the tide. This contrary quality of nature caused the squadron to lie athwart both wind and tide and lie almost end-on to anyone approaching from Portsmouth. Seeing his passenger’s eyes darting about from one man-of-war to another, the boatman spat to leeward again.

  ‘From London are ye, sir?’

  ‘Aye . . .’ Faulkner answered warily.

  ‘An’ the first time you’ve joined a ship, eh?’

  ‘In Portsmouth, yes, but I’ve seen a deal of service . . .’

  ‘Have ye now . . .’ The boatman seemed to consider this and reassess his passenger. He was anxious to get a good tip beyond the shilling he had already extorted from him. ‘You see the three largest vessels, over against the island, sir . . .’

  ‘Yes, I do . . .’

  ‘The westernmost one is the Swiftsure, of forty-two guns wearing the flag of L
ord Windsor; the easternmost is the St Andrew, also of forty-two guns and flying the flag of Vice Admiral Lord Morley. The Prince Royal lies between the two, sir, a full fifty-five guns and Sir Henry Mainwaring in command with the Earl of Rutland expected tomorrow, but you’ll know that coming from Court, sir,’ the man added ingratiatingly.

  Faulkner was no longer listening; he was peering at the ship the boatman had identified. She presented her huge stern to the mainland and, as they drew nearer, the vast size of the ship began to impress itself upon him. Why, the Swallow might nestle in her waist! She was huge! And he could see as she swung slightly that she sported four masts! Something entirely new opened up in the pit of Faulkner’s stomach; all fear of seasickness vanished in the face of a naked apprehension: could he cope with handling this monster? Why she must have a crew of . . . of perhaps four hundred men?

  Something of this may have betrayed him, for the boatman added, ‘Some twelve hundred tons she measures, sir, and with a crew of five hundred men.’

  ‘Five hundred!’ Faulkner was unable to conceal his astonishment: five hundred men! Why, the Swallow, even with her crew augmented by gunners to ward off the Sallee Rovers mustered no more than twenty eight!

  ‘And her guns on three decks, sir,’ added the boatman, aware that he was impressing his young passenger and doling out the information as if he himself were the author of all this naval puissance. Faulkner stared at the looming bulk of the great man-of-war as he was pulled past the lesser vessels in the squadron, though even these, except perhaps the pinnaces Charles and Seven Stars, would dwarf the Swallow. He counted the gun-ports in the larboard side of the Antelope and, doubling them, guessed her to mount about three dozen pieces, the Bonaventure perhaps the same and the Rainbow more. Two heavier ships were too distant for him to make any such estimate, nor would he learn their names until later as the St George and Defiance. They were now closing the Prince Royal and Faulkner had only a moment or two to register the enormous height of her poop, richly encrusted with ornate and gilded carvings, of fabled beasts, armorial bearings and acanthus leaves. These surrounded the royal coat of arms and embraced the monogram H.P. – Henricus Princeps – the royal prince after whom the great ship had been named before Henry, Prince of Wales, predeceased his father.