Sails on the Horizon

by Jay Worrall

  “Oh, Charles,” she said, “that’s beautiful. Thou art beautiful, but—”

  “Just a minute,” he said in an absurdly serious tone, “I’m not finished yet. I haven’t gotten to the marriage part.”

  “Pray continue,” she said, brushing at something on her cheek.

  “I know I’m not very refined,” he went on as if uninterrupted. “I’m not of your religion, and I don’t understand it well. I know you don’t approve of my profession as a soldier in the navy and that this is very important to you, as it should be. I would not ask you to change except in this one thing—to make an exception for me.”

  “Charles,” she said softly.

  “I’m almost done,” he said, and she nodded for him to go on. “I want you to marry me and be the mother of our children and to live with me all our days. But I ask only this—that you will think seriously about marriage to me and that you will talk with your God about it. When you know in your heart what the answer is, then you will tell me yes or no, and I will be satisfied. Now I’m finished.”

  Penny did not answer him immediately. She sat silently on the blanket with her eyes closed and her hands folded softly in her lap. When she spoke she said, “May I call thee Charlie?”

  “All my friends do,” he answered.

  She said, “Yes, I know. Thou told me on our first meeting.” She sat still in her composed, serene way for a moment longer, then said, “I have a great fondness for thee too, Charlie, in the deepest part of my heart. If my conscience were clear I would marry thee tomorrow and long to be by thy side every minute. I already long for that, I want thee to know. But I am not clear. All my life I have been taught that war and violence are wrong and an insult to God. Now, in the stillness of silence, my heart pulls me to unite my life with a man who is a warrior, but my conscience says no. It is hard for me to know what is right.”

  “Is that because you would be disowned?” Charles asked.

  “Oh, I will surely be disowned if I marry thee, but in a tender way,” she said. “I would still be welcome to attend meeting for worship. No, what is hard for me now is to discern God’s will, which I must surely follow.”

  “So what do we do?” he said.

  Penny reached across and touched his cheek, tracing her fingers softly along the side of his face. “Thou art dear to me,” she said. “I don’t want to cause thee to suffer any longer than necessary. I will answer when thou returnest next from the sea.”

  “Thank you,” Charles said, his heart full near to bursting. He took her hand and raised it, kissing her fingers. She leaned toward him and lightly brushed her lips across his cheek.

  Late in the afternoon they repacked her basket and folded the blanket. They walked hand in hand down from the knoll, and in the carriage on the way back to Tattenall she sat very close to him while he drove. At the village he collected her mare and cart and tied it behind the carriage so that he could see her home. Ellie and Winchester came out to greet them, and Ellie gave a squeal of happiness on seeing them together and the expressions on their faces.

  “Oh, Charlie, what have you done?” she said delightedly.

  “I proposed marriage,” he answered.

  “How did it go?” Winchester asked.

  “Don’t know,” Charles said happily, and he heard Penny laugh beside him.

  EIGHT

  CHARLES EDGEMONT CLIMBED DOWN FROM THE COACH onto the worn cobbled surface of Millbay Road outside Plymouth early in the evening, bone-tired after the long, jolting trip from Cheshire and grateful to have his feet on solid ground. Daniel Bevan, Stephen Winchester, and Timothy Attwater descended next, Bevan stretching languorously while Winchester went to help Attwater as their luggage was passed down. Plymouth had been the home port for the old Argonaut and Jervis’s Mediterranean fleet, and all the men knew its haunts well. “It’s good to be home,” Bevan said, yawning and rubbing his backside. “By Christ, I’m glad to be out of that carriage. Those things’ll kill you. Rattled to death, the papers will say.”

  Charles smiled in response while he looked up and down the street. Something was out of place and for a moment he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then it came to him: While the street was not completely deserted, he saw few of the warrants, commissioned officers, and other naval personnel that normally crowded the street sides and walkways. There was a very small number of ships in the usually crowded naval anchorage in the Hamoaze, most of them, judging by the state of their rigging, undergoing refit or repair.

  “Look at that,” Bevan said, directing his attention to two seventy-fours with full sets of sail rounding Devil’s Point in succession on their way to the sound and the open sea. “Now that’s beauty. Forget women—give me a ship of the line any day.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Charles said with a laugh.

  “Well, no,” Bevan allowed, scratching at the stubble in his chin. “I only said it in case some admiral might be listening.”

  Charles ran his palm across the stubble on his own cheeks. They had been two days in the coach and he was torn between the desire for a hot meal and a soft bed, or going out to see his new ship. A gravelly voice sounded at his elbow: “Tuppence to tote yer bag, Cap’n?”

  He turned and saw a wiry one-armed man with a wheelbarrow standing beside him. The man had rigged a rope around the barrow’s handles so he could lift it with his shoulders and steer it with his remaining arm. He knuckled his forehead as soon as Charles’s eyes settled on him. He wore a golden earring and his hair was tied in a queue behind his head, which marked him as a veteran seaman. Charles noticed that there were about a half-dozen men with wheelbarrows or handcarts standing nearby. All of them were disfigured or maimed in some way. “I want to go to my ship,” he said, coming to a decision. “There’s a half-crown for you if you can find a carriage to take us there.”

  “And what ship would that be, sur?”

  “The frigate Louisa.”

  “Ah,” the porter said meaningfully. “I thought it might be something like that. Ye’ll be her new captain, I’ll wager. I heard ol’ Jervie smiles on you ’cus of what ye did at St. Vincent.”

  Charles raised his eyebrows at the man’s knowledge, but there must be a lot of scuttlebutt about the comings and goings of the fleet and the man had probably heard most of it. “Yes, I’m her new commander,” he said. “Now, if you could help find us a carriage.”

  “I hear she’s just had her twelves dropped into her,” the porter continued, as if Charles hadn’t spoken. “Ol’ Grimsley, that would be the dock admiral, he’s been paying close attention to her. More than usual. I’d be wary and check everything twice if I wus ye.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Why’s that? ’Cus Grimsley don’t do nuttin’ outa the goodness of his heart. I have a mate what does the port admiral’s records. He sees the indents and all. My word, the stories he tells. Grimsley buys old and charges new, broke as good, and rotten as fine. Just ye check everything, is all I say.”

  “I will,” Charles said quickly. “I appreciate your advice and I’ll start as soon as I have a carriage to take me there.”

  “Easy as tying a bowline, sur,” the porter said, and gave an ear-splitting whistle. An open coach pulled by two aging dobbins appeared from around a corner and plodded toward them.

  After they had hoisted their sea chests aboard, Charles gave the one-armed porter a crown. “Where is she berthed?” he asked.

  “In the Hamoaze,” the porter answered, glancing at the coin and pocketing it quickly. “But don’t expect much. She’s a ways to go before she’s ready for sea.”

  “You’ve been very helpful. What’s your name?” Charles asked.

  “Poole, Cap’n,” the man said with a wide smile. “I was foretopman off the ol’ Caesar. Lost my arm in ninety-four at the Glorious First ’o June.”

  “Must be hard on you.”

  “I ain’t complaining, sur. I gets by. If there’s anything I can do for ye, just ye ask for Jethro Poole. An’ go
od luck with yer new command.”

  THE HIRED CARRIAGE deposited them at the gun wharf in the naval yard as the day’s work wound down. While Bevan and the others unloaded their gear and paid off the driver, Charles walked out onto the dock to look for his ship. She was pointed out to him by a passing dockworker, riding high in the water about two cable lengths’ away in front of Torpoint. From what he could see at that distance, she had her masts stepped and her standing rigging, but no yards crossed. She seemed small compared to the Argonaut but was larger than the Lomond, probably a hundred-thirty feet along her gundeck, he guessed. Still, she had the raised fore- and afterdecks characteristic of frigates and a sturdy, seaworthy look about her. Charles surveyed the ship that would be his first real command and was unreasonably pleased.

  “Perhaps we should board ’er, sir,” Winchester said hesitantly, a sign that their relationship stood to change from that of brothers-in-law to that of commander and lieutenant. “Lieutenant Bevan has reserved a boat.”

  “Of course, Stephen,” he said.

  “Louisa!” Winchester shouted as the waterman hooked onto the ship’s mainchains. This announcement of her commander’s imminent presence on board was greeted by silence. There had been no challenge and no answering reply. For an instant Charles was reminded of his boarding of the disordered Lomond with her debauched crew. But everything looked reasonably shipshape this time, only unfinished and empty. He climbed up the sidesteps over the tumble-home, surveyed the empty maindeck, and swore under his breath. He saw no watch, no crew, no sign of any activity or human presence. The new masts stood without their yards or sails, like unadorned poles. The guns were in place, at least those on the maindeck, all housed and secured in neat lines on both sides in front of their ports. A glance told him that they were older models, scratched and rusted, salvaged out of some other ship. He swore again.

  He started aft along the waist toward the raised quarterdeck and heard voices coming from the captain’s cabin underneath. Ducking under the low doorway, he found four men sitting around a barrelhead, playing cards by the light of the galley windows behind them.

  “Ahem,” Charles noised loudly.

  “Oh, m’God,” one of the men, burly, muttonchopped, and balding, uttered as he jerked himself to his feet. The others followed as quickly as they could, one of them, a little taller than the others, loudly smacking his head against a deck beam as he did so. “Good evening, sir,” another offered, while a third hurriedly collected the cards and stuffed them into his pocket.

  “Please stand easy. I’m Edgemont, the new commander. Who are you?”

  “Samuel Eliot, sir,” the muttonchopped man said. “Ship’s master.”

  Charles extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” The introductions continued around the table: Davey Howell, the ship’s carpenter, George George, gunner, and Matthew Lincoln, surgeon, still rubbing his skull.

  “Where’s the crew? And why is no watch being kept?”

  “There ain’t no crew and ain’t no watch,” Eliot said. “Apart from us there’s four master’s mates and a carpenter’s mate. They’ve gone into the town for the evening. Ain’t no one else.”

  Charles took his watch from his pocket and glanced at it. It was rapidly approaching suppertime. “Is there any food on board?”

  “Only our own stores,” the gunner offered. “You’re welcome to share.”

  “Thank you, Mr. George,” Charles said. “I promise to return the favor. You’ll find two lieutenants and my steward on deck. Go introduce yourselves and work out who’s to cook.” As the men started to file out of the door, he remembered something important and added, “Pass the word for Timothy Attwater.”

  Standing in the middle of the almost bare captain’s cabin, Charles told his steward to unpack their sea chests as best he could. Tomorrow Attwater could collect the furnishings and stores he’d purchased that were currently being held for him in the town. That would keep him busy for the time being and away from the galley stove.

  Over dinner Charles asked Eliot about the general state of the ship and learned little that his eyes had not already told him. She had only a few of her warrant officers—no bosun, no purser, no quartermaster, no cook, sailmaker, cooper, or marines. Of course, she also had no crew. There were no stores from the victualling yard, no powder or shot, no yards, running rigging, or sails. And while the old twelve-pounder guns were secure on the maindeck, she still lacked the long nines for the quarterdeck. With a growing sense of alarm, he realized that the Louisa was far from being ready for sea. It would be almost impossible for him to meet the deadline laid down in his orders.

  Charles went to bed, such as it was—a seaman’s hammock slung from the beams of his sleeping cabin—in an unsettled and unhappy frame. He lay starkly awake for an hour as his mind drifted anxiously over all the many, many things that needed to be done before the Louisa would be ready to sail. In an effort to settle himself, he recalled his afternoon with Penny three days before, confiding his dreams and fears to her, and remembering her answers. Almost immediately he fell into deep and dreamless slumber.

  Charles awoke late the next morning to the not-so-muffled sounds of heavy objects being dragged across the floor of his day cabin and his steward’s high-pitched voice. “Avast there,” he heard clearly. “Lift it quiet like or you’ll wake the captain.”

  “Ain’t he awake yet? Which it’s nearly midmorning already,” a surly voice answered, followed by a solid thump as something heavy was lowered clumsily onto the deckboards. “’At’s the last of it, mate,” a third voice said. Then he added hopefully, “That’ll be three and sixpence for the delivery, and maybe a little something extra for the deliverymen, seeing as how nothing ain’t damaged.”

  “Well I never,” Attwater began, almost at the top of his voice. “What, there ain’t nothing extra for—”

  Charles rolled quickly out of his hammock and, still in his nightshirt, pushed aside the curtain to the day cabin. Except for the four twelve-pounder cannon and their carriages housed there, the large room had been empty the night before. Now in the bright light of the galley windows it seemed crowded with haphazardly placed crates and furnishings: a smallish desk, a largish table, eight chairs (six for the table, one for the desk, and one with arms for reading), a bookcase that would fold up into a box, and a cabinet. Attwater and two burly men stood amid the clutter.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” Attwater scolded the deliverymen. “You’ve gone and woke him.” To Charles he said, “I’m sorry, sir, but these—”

  “It’s all right,” Charles answered, pleased to see his furniture. “Give these men a shilling each for their effort, then start some hot water in the galley.”

  Half an hour later, washed, shaved, dressed in his best uniform, and with two cups of coffee in him, Charles sent Attwater to call the entire ship’s company—all six of them, including his lieutenants—to the quarterdeck. As soon as everyone presented themselves he unfolded his orders and read them out loud, thus making himself officially commander of the Louisa. Having refolded the document and replaced it in his pocket, he turned back to them. “Our task now is to get this ship in all respects ready for sea as quickly as possible. We’ll start with you, Mr. Eliot.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go into Plymouth and collect the missing mates. Buy enough supplies in the town to last a week or so and then bring everyone and everything back on board at once. I’ll pay for it, of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Howell, I want a complete report on all repairs and construction that still wants doing, and an itemized list of all carpenter’s supplies needed before we sail on my desk by dinnertime.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Mr. George, every gun is to be fully inspected as to its fitness for duty. I want a full report to this effect and a list of the required shot, powder, and gunnery supplies. Lieutenant Winchester, you will draft a suitable handbill for recruiting crew members, especially topmen. I expec
t to review it with you after dinner and we’ll have it printed tomorrow. Otherwise you will assist Lieutenant Bevan as he sees fit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Finally, Charles turned to Daniel Bevan, who had been watching him speculatively. “Lieutenant Bevan, you will schedule the watch officers, to include Mr. Winchester and myself when I am available. You will also organize the other officers, warrants, mates, midshipmen, crew, and any others as they come aboard. I suggest you begin immediately.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” Bevan responded easily. “May I inquire what you’re to be doing?”

  “I am going to call personally on the dockyard admiral to find out why the bloody hell this tub’s in the unready state she’s in.”

  “Good luck,” Bevan said dryly. “It’s possible you’ll need it.”

  After the cabin had emptied, Charles sent Attwater on deck to hail a water taxi to carry him across to the dockyard. As the small open boat pulled across the nearly empty harbor, he remembered what the crippled seaman, Poole, had said about the dockyard admiral. Charles had heard stories about Admiral Arthur Grimsley—everyone had. He was said to be notoriously corrupt but with enough influence in high places that he couldn’t be removed from his post. Charles remembered one lieutenant telling him a year or so earlier that his own captain was driven to apoplexy by the treatment he’d received at the Plymouth dockyard and how much it had cost him out of his own pocket in “gifts” and “inducements” to get it all put to rights. Shoddy workmanship and substandard materials seemed to be the normal way of doing business, unless a commander were willing to pay for the difference. It occurred to him that Grimsley almost certainly knew about St. Vincent and the Spanish warships he’d been awarded, and probably knew to the farthing how much prize money he’d collected. He had a sinking feeling that Grimsley would expect to receive a lot of it. On the other hand, Charles thought, perhaps Grimsley was a good fellow and would be eager to help. Maybe others, jealous of his position, spread false rumors to damage his reputation. That was common enough. Perhaps he would be pleased when Charles pointed the Louisa’s deficiencies out to him and soon have them put to right. And maybe, he thought again, the moon is made of blue cheese and faeries sprinkle sand in your eyes to help you sleep.