“So, this thievin’ is all over the ship, just about. All bar Sam Morris’ crew an’ two others.”
Moses King added what he knew.
“Only Sam Morris’ has a new recruit. T’other two is all Ariadne of long standin’, from one place or another.”
“Who’s Sam got in his guncrew? Anyone know?”
His fellow topmen spoke of what they knew. They named most, including Smallsize, but it was Beddow’s recollection that was the most telling.
“His recruit’s a convict, as replaced Tooley, now gone for a mizzen topman. A shifty lookin’ bugger as I recall.”
Gabriel Whiting paused to think.
“I’d trust Sam Morris, straight as a gun barrel. And his crew, least those I knows.”
It was Silas Beddows who spoke next.
“That don’t prove too much, Sam. Could be just that our thief ain’t got round to them three yet.”
“Could be. On the other hand, perhaps our thief has some kind of feelin’ for his messmates, but that I doubt, more like he’s worried that they’ll see in his chest any particulars that he’s half inched from them, when he opens it, alongside theirs, where they’re stored all together. When he’s inside his own chest, could be that one of his mess comes up to see, as is very possible. Strikes me as ‘tis a convict that’ll ‘ave that kind of cunnin’, an’ ‘tis Number Three as’ve got a new man, a convict.”
Sage like nods circulated the table. Whiting slapped his hands on the table.
“Right. That’s a start if nothin’ else. I’m off to see Sam.”
Gabriel Whiting took himself along the lower deck and found Sam Morris sat on his chest in the company of his guncrew, they being sat on theirs. Whiting spoke immediately.
“Sam. A trip to the heads.”
Morris knew exactly what Whiting was asking. The heads, the furthermost part of the ship was the crew’s latrine, when at sea. Officers went there but very infrequently, so there they could talk privately. They ascended the companionway and crossed to the starboard carronade. Whiting began in response to Morris’ concerned face.
“Sam, all guncrews has suffered some thievin’, great or small, save three, your’n bein’ one. No one’s accusin’ you or your lads, not right off, but it’s a place to start, on account that yours is the only one with a convict new recruit.”
Morris made no argument, but nodded.
“That’s a fair call, Gab, and that’s the one I wouldn’t trust, him new joined. One Landy Main. He’s a convict and one very odd sod. If you have to start somewhere, startin’ there makes as much sense as anywhere.”
“Right. Come mornin’ I’ll see my Watch Officer, Sanders. He knows how this works. Meanwhile, keep an eye out and keep one on this Main.”
Morris nodded and clapped his hand against Whiting’s upper arm. The conversation was finished; agreement reached.
oOo
The next day Whiting approached Lieutenant Sanders.
“Sir, may I beg a moment of your time?”
Sanders remembered Whiting from their confrontation with Cheveley, post St. Malo. He did no more than was needed, to nod and smile, but the smile soon faded.
“We got a thief on board, Sir. All messes has suffered some kind of loss, one or two men, each one or two items, ‘cept three. Eight and ten, larboard, number three starboard. But number three is the only one with a convict new come aboard. Eight and ten has long standin’ shipmates, Sir.”
“That’s no proof, Whiting.”
“No Sir, but perhaps it’s where we should start. Losses are all over the ship, Sir, ‘tis no good thing.”
Sanders needed no convincing. A community such as a ship, with all on board trusting and depending on each other and all living cheek by jowl, was highly vulnerable to theft and the trust that could take years to build up, would be quickly destroyed. He looked at Whiting, a man he knew. With different circumstances, their positions could be reversed.
“I can start a search, but we don’t start with number three, we start with number one. If nothing is found at Morris’ gun, starting there nevertheless piles all suspicion onto them. But we will search.”
Sanders shifted his feet to consider further, remembering how such was dealt with when he was a topman.
“You find a dozen men, who’ve all had items stolen. Meet me by the mainmast at four bells. This you can do?”
“Yes, Sir. Me, an’ Silas Beddows is two, for a start.”
“Good, but not all from your mess. It looks better if from amongst the whole crew; and quietly and discreetly. We don’t want to give any advanced warning.”
“Aye, aye. Sir.”
Both parted company, Whiting for his search, Sanders to find Fentiman, he being off watch but not asleep, as was Argent. He found him on the quarterdeck.
“Sir, Gabriel Whiting, Captain of the Foretop, has come to inform me that there has been a severe outbreak of theiving in the ship. I’d like to make a search of the men’s sea chests.”
Fentiman looked grave.
“Theft?”
“Yes Sir. All over the ship. The men are both disturbed and incensed. I think we have to do something, to show that we know and take it seriously, at least.”
“I agree. Can I leave it with you?”
“Yes, Sir. You can. I’ve already made a start. I now need Fraser and his mates to send all the crew to the lower deck to stand by their chests, at the appropriate time.”
“Agreed. Make it so.”
Sanders hurried off to find Fraser and tell him what was required. At four bells the Bosun’s whistles blew and the order was shouted around the ship, to stand by their chests, but not yet to open them. Sanders collected four Marines and then Whiting’s collection of victims. Fraser came also. They began with number one gun, starboard side. Each in turn was required to open their chest and reveal the contents for Whiting’s men to examine. Nothing was found. The search at number two gun produced the same result. They came to number three. Morris’ sea chest first, then Dedman’s, then Bearman’s, and Pierce’s. Next Landy Main, but he opened his chest and spilled the contents onto the deck. There was nothing but odd items of clothing, a tarred hat, and a few rags. All stared hard at the miserable contents, but Whiting had thought of something.
“What about the ship’s boys, Sir? Each gun’s powder monkey?”
The ship’s boys stored their belongings down in the hold, in smaller chests. Sanders turned to look at Whiting and nodded, then he turned to Fraser.
“Mr. Fraser. Each ship’s boy to bring his chest up to the lower deck.”
With these words spoken, Smallsize legs collapsed and he scampered back to the bulwark to sit with his arms over his head, face in utter distress and wailing uncontrollably. Sanders looked at Fraser.
“Fetch him forward.”
Fraser walked to the cowering Smallsize and lifted him up by his left arm, almost off the deck. He dragged him forward and stood him before Sanders and when his arm was released he collapsed again and so Fraser had to haul him upright again. Sanders noticed that Main, stood at the back was beginning to look nervous and agitated, but, for now, he looked down at the agonized face of Smallsize.
“Now then, you know…..”
But before Sanders could finish the sentence, Smallsize began to speak, or more like wail at the top of his voice, pointing back at Landy Main.
“It were ‘im, Sir. ‘im. He made I do it, he said he’d ‘ave the eyes out of my ‘ead, Sir, if I didn’t.”
The Marines were moving forward to cut off any escape. Sanders allowed Smallsize to take a few deep breaths, sucked in between heavy sobs.
“Didn’t do what?”
“Store what he stole, Sir. In my chest.”
Sanders looked at Morris.
“Take him down and bring back his chest.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Morris took Smallsize away, holding him upright to the extent that his feet barely touched the deck. Sanders allowed silence to arrive a
ll round, with all looking at Landy Main. Sanders’ time as a common sailor shaped the contempt he now felt. He stared straight at Main.
“Anything to say, Main?”
The answer was no more than a blank stare in return. Silence reigned with Landy Main pinned to the spot by the malignant looks from the men surrounding, many of whom having left their place to come to the origin of the commotion. Within minutes Fraser returned with Smallsize’s chest, the steel shim still in through the hasp. Smallsize began again to blubber as Fraser removed the shim and tipped out the contents. The chest was almost full and the scattered contents were all saleable items; earings, scarf rings, knives of all kinds and three small purses of coin, each with holes remaining from stitching that had previously shown initials. Main must have cut away the embroidered letters. Sanders turned to Whiting and the others.
“Is any of this yours?”
As many of the dozen as could see strained forward and each pointed. Each called an item that they identified as their own, but there were many left over. Sanders now turned to Fraser, but pointed at Main.
“Put him in irons.”
Fraser, in turn, motioned to the Marines, who eagerly sprang forward to seize hold of Main’s spindly frame and one accidentally dropped his heavy musket onto Main’s foot. He howled in pain, to then be dragged, limping, off to the forward end of the lower deck where he was quickly thrust down to the deck and his ankles locked into manacles whose chain passed through iron rings set into the planking. Nothing was actually thrown in his direction by anyone, but the looks of contempt were withering. Main sat still, unconcerned.
With the disappearance of Landy Main, Sanders looked down at Smallsize, still in a state of tearful terror. He then looked at Sam Morris.
“What’s his name.”
“We all calls ‘im Smallsize, Sir. No one knows his given name.”
Sanders nodded, then looked back at Smallsize, slightly calmer, but this changed when Sanders gave Morris an order.
“Bring him with me.”
Smallsize set off wailing again as Morris propelled him, more carried than walking, along the deck after Sanders. They came to the Marine guarding the entrance to the Captain’s cabin.
“Is the Captain awake?”
“He is, Sir. Bible, I mean his Steward, has just taken in his breakfast.”
Sanders turned to Morris, still supporting the distraught youngster.
“Wait here.”
Sanders entered the corridor, approached the Captain’s door and knocked. “Come in” sounded immediately and he entered. Argent had finished his breakfast, merely coffee and rolls, he rarely ate more at this time. Sanders saluted and began.
“Sir, we’ve caught thieves, Sir. Two of them, one a convict recruit in the afterguard, the other, his accomplice, a ship’s boy.”
“Where are they now.”
“The afterguard, that being one Landy Main, is in irons, the other, the boy whom the men call Smallsize, is outside.”
Argent looked at Sanders, who could see that his Captain was saddened.
“I’ll see the boy now. The other can wait, until we’re at sea.”
Sanders left, but once in the corridor, he saw Morris giving the terrified Smallsize some strict advice, the latter gazing back and up in awe and horror. He paused to allow it to finish.
“Now, when you gets in there, before the Captain, you comes to the attention, pays your respects, then goes back to full attention. An’ you answers full and respectful. Be that understood?”
Smallsize nodded furiously, shaking some long standing tears onto Morris’ duck trousers. Sanders called out.
“Morris, send him down.”
Morris pushed the trembling boy forward, not roughly, but enough to move him, when he clearly would rather not. Smallsize entered and carried out Morris’ instructions to the letter while Sanders followed and closed the door. Argent had the Ship’s Muster open before him, at the page for Ship’s Boys. Smallsize stood, remaining at attention, but looking at the deck beams.
“What’s your name?”
“They all calls me Smallsize, Sir.”
Still looking at the deck beams.
“There is no name like that here. What were you signed on as?”
At last the boy lowered his eyes to regard his Captain. He saw a face almost friendly, not at all what he had been expecting.
“I was signed on as Wheeler, Sir. That’s the name I had at the Foundling Home.”
Argent ran a finger down the list and found Wheeler, but no Christian name.
“You have no Christian Name?”
“No Sir. None that I can remember.”
“And how old are you?”
“Sorry Sir, but I can’t say, Sir. Don’t know. Sir.”
Argent fixed his age at around ten or twelve, but under nourishment could have wholly thrown that awry.
“Right. We’re going to call you Wheeler. Now, to this thieving. You could be flogged, Wheeler, even hung!”
More terror passed over Wheeler’s face, but his expression improved to mere deep anxiety when he saw that Argent was neither stern nor frowning himself. The boy made a few noises, gasp like, then stopped. Argent spoke encouragingly.
“Take your time, say what you think, but first take a deep breath.”
Wheeler did the latter, and then began.
“It were soon after he came into our mess, Sir. He grabbed me when I was alone down in the hold. Grabbed me, Sir, and said he’d have the eyes out of me, Sir.”
Argent held up his hand, palm out. The description stopped.
“That’s all he did? He did not interfere with you in any other way? At any other time, in any unnatural fashion?”
The implication was lost on Wheeler, but not on Sanders. The next answer, if matched what Argent was suspecting, would mean death for Main, possibly also for the boy, but Wheeler’s face grew puzzled.
“Stickin’ a knife under my eye were enough for me, Sir.”
Argent nodded.
“Continue. How did this work, between you and Main?”
“He’d do the thievin’ Sir, and give me what he took to take down to my chest, Sir. He never came down to the hold again, Sir, just reminded me, like, by pointin’ at his eye, each time he gave me summat, Sir. He’d say that he had a list of all he’d given me, and, when the time came, it’d better all be there, Sir.”
Argent nodded and looked at Sanders.
“Any other problems with this boy?”
“No, Sir.”
Argent returned his gaze to Wheeler. He looked at him for some while, his face serious and concerned.
“You’ve been in action alongside us, haven’t you Wheeler?”
“Yes Sir. Against La Pomone and in St. Malo.”
“That makes you a veteran, and a shipmate of everyone in this crew. Doesn’t it? You served your gun as well as anyone.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Do you have any family?”
“No Sir. I’m a foundling.”
“So, who acts as your family now, I mean, who are those that look after you? See to your needs, that is. Keep you safe?”
Wheeler needed to think.
“Why, my messmates, Sir. Sam Morris and such.”
“And others in the crew, I don’t doubt.”
“Yes Sir. Eli Reece and others teaches me much about bein’ a sailor.”
“And now you’ve been party to stealing from them.”
Wheeler’s face fell and his shoulders slumped down.
“Yes Sir.”
Argent sat forward, his arms across his desk.
“I’m going to be lenient with you, Wheeler, this time.”
Wheeler looked puzzled. He didn’t know what lenient meant.
“I’m giving you back to your mess and they’ll decide what is to be done with you. You’ll receive seaman’s justice. That’s what you are, are you not? You’re a seaman?”
Wheeler brightened up. He wasn’t going to be flogged on a gra
ting, nor hung for thievery.
“Yes Sir. I am”
“But also now a thief.”
No answer, bar a full slump down of face and shoulders.
“But until now you’ve been a good shipmate of ours; and you’ll never steal again, nor be part of it. Will you?”
Wheeler straightened up.
“No Sir. Never Sir.”
Argent lowered his face and looked at Wheeler very gravely, from under his eyebrows.
“And that’s your word, to us, here, now, us, as your shipmates?”
Wheeler nodded vigorously.
“Yes Sir, never again Sir.”
Argent nodded slowly, whilst fixing a serious look on him.
“Now, about your name. We must correct that. Have you any name that you prefer?
Wheeler looked amazed and thought for a second.
“I’ve always liked the name Christopher, Sir.”
Argent smiled, so did Sanders.
“Christopher it is. You’ll be entered as Christopher Wheeler. Now, as we speak, you are but a ship’s boy.”
Wheeler nodded.
“Well, I’m sure he won’t mind me saying, but Lieutenant Sanders here, he came aboard one of His Majesty’s ships as a ship’s boy, and now he’s an Officer. It can be done, you’d agree, Lieutenant?”
Wheeler turned to look at Sanders, no small wonder showing on his face. Sanders smiled and nodded.
“That’s right, it can be done.”
Argent looked up at Sanders.
“Do we educate the ship’s boys in any way, do we? To read, write, and cipher?”
Sanders shook his head.
“No Sir. We do not.”
“I want that changed. Any boy we have above the age of ten is to be taught. Give the job to Wentworth, with Berry, Bright and Trenchard to assist. One hour every day.”
Argent sat back and toyed with his letter opener.
“Now, take ship’s boy Christopher Wheeler here, back to his mess and tell Morris that they are to decide his fate. There’s a cane in the corner, over there.”
Wheeler’s face fell to his shoes and there was no improvement as Sanders shuffled him out the door, now carrying the cane. They proceeded along the gun deck to the companionway and down to the lower deck, where Morris and his crew were still at ease, being off watch. All rose at the approach of Sanders and made their respects. Sanders pushed Wheeler forward.
A Question of Duty Page 36