“Purser Maybank! Joy of the afternoon to you. Please to take care of this, it’s more prize money. Distribution as for La Mouette.”
Maybank took this as both the commencement and the termination of his time in his Captain’s presence and he carefully gathered the documents and took himself away, leaving his superior Officer to lean back in his chair and begin at the beginning once more. Later, having almost committed the whole to memory, he placed the letter in his inside pocket and took himself up on deck, to the quarterdeck. There he observed the Quarterdeck Afterguard about their business, the Watch about theirs on the gangways, some topmen in the rigging and so, thus fully absorbed, he decided to take a turn around the ship. With his hands clasped behind his back, smiling all round and describing the occasional jig, he took himself along the starboard companionway and up to the forecastle. He passed Bosun Fraser, who followed Argent with his eyes, then observed to his companion, Bosun’s Mate Ball.
“Somethin’s put a spring in his step!”
oOo
The days were pushing onto Christmas. With Ariadne still at her mooring, on the 22nd December, Herodotus sailed passed, making her exit for the open sea and to begin her duty on the “Plymouth picket”. Argent and all his Officers could not resist going to the rail and observing who was on her quarterdeck. The rumour mill had been at work and all had some inkling of what had befallen Broke and Cheveley, therefore, would Cheveley be on his quarterdeck? He was not, in his place was an unknown figure who had the courtesy to raise his hat as the tide took his ship on past. All Ariadne Officers raised theirs in reply and not a few amongst both crews waved in both greeting and farewell. None of the Ariadne’s crew could bring themselves to view those of the Herodotus as the bitter rivals that they would the crew of any other frigate.
Argent drew his own thoughts towards the subject of Christmas. With Herodotus out, it would seem that Ariadne would not be at sea, bar some emergency and, in addition, she was due a thorough overhaul, just short of a refit. This would involve striking down the spars and topmasts to repair and replace, also thoroughly renewing, where needed, both the running and standing rigging. In the event of an overhaul, he had decided that a Christmas meal for the whole crew and Officers would be very much in order, especially with the extra prize money.
Argent felt secure in assuming the refit and Maybank was, therefore, ordered to place a “voluntary” tax on the extra prizemoney, to pay for the festivity. Thus, the following day, Argent sought Budgen’s permission to begin the overhaul, but he dropped into the conversation, outwardly as a mere aside, but tactically as a cunning bribe, that he was organising a Christmas feast for the whole crew. The overhaul was granted, unsurprisingly, on the understanding that Budgen would receive an invitation, and the extra supplies were bought in for the feast and carefully stowed where neither damp nor rodent could do them harm. However, for the good Commodore, a surprise awaited.
On Christmas Eve the lowerdeck was prepared, this being looked forward to by all aboard as being rations a “cut above the usual”, but Budgen found himself part of an occasion when the Officers served the men, an Argent innovation. To remain sitting alone at the Officer’s table even he could condemn as churlish and so he grudgingly, but eventually with good grace, provided an extra pair of hands, finding the men both cheerful and respectful. There was one other notable occurrence, in that “Smallsize” had become Midshipman Wheeler, him now elevated to fill the vacancy in that Mess, sponsored by Argent. It was he that, as chance would have it, came to serve the mess of number three starboard. Morris sat back with folded arms and, in a Fatherly fashion, looked approvingly upon his, now uniformed, ex-powdermonkey, as he placed the dish of roast pork and the bucket of bread onto the table, to go with the pot of peas and the jug of beer brought earlier.
“Nothing new about you bringin’ such as that ‘ere for us. Eh? Sir!”
All at the table knuckled their foreheads in the presence of their new Midshipman, humorously but respectfully and Wheeler departed smiling. The Officers ate with the men, then Argent made a short speech, which finished with a toast to Ariadne. The eagerness with which the men sprang to their feet and the gusto in the shout to repeat the name of their ship was not lost on Budgen nor on the Marine sentries on the quayside who turned their heads as the name came echoing across the chill, grey water. The meal finished, the Officers remained to watch, and sometimes to join in, the post-prandial entertainment. This took the form all types of formation dancing and most modes of singing, bar that of concert standard, but the fiddles and squeezeboxes gave no one the choice of remaining silent. Argent and Fentiman slipped away, feeling the need to take Budgen with them, him now being well in his cups and swaying markedly. After the departure of Budgen, Argent and Fentiman were alone in the main cabin, both were happily intoxicated and Argent enquired of Fentiman the possibility of him spending some time with his own family. The reply came as a surprise.
“It is my dearest wish, but I fear that the East coast, King’s Lynn that being, is too far a journey.”
“Not so! Within two days, this ship will not be fit for sea and the refurbishment will take several days, possibly a week. On the day that begins, you must go.”
He refilled the glasses of both.
“Right, that leaves tomorrow, Christmas Day. You must come with me, to the farm. As my guest. I insist!”
He paused and looked fully at his First Lieutenant.
“I’ve arranged it all anyway!”
The light that came into Fentiman’s face showed that any form of insisting was wholly unnecessary; plainly, it was a notion that he welcomed as fully as a warm fire on a wet night, plus a comfy chair!
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, I would be delighted to accept.”
Argent emptied his glass and set it back down on the table, a little too heavily.
“Right, that’s settled. I’m for returning to the men. I am very much in the right mood for a bit of a sing song!”
The next day, Christmas Day found them standing at the farm door, Argent again formally knocking. The door was opened, unsurprisingly, by Emily, in her best dress and the pleasure of both her and Fentiman to, once again, be in each other’s presence was unmistakable. Fentiman felt he now had sufficient licence to take Emily’s hand and kiss it and, whilst Emily blushed and studied the floor, Argent passed judgment.
“Hmmm. Lady’s man!”
“Be quiet! Out of the way!”
This time from Enid and Argent allowed himself to be pushed to the table and around to the place at his Father’s right hand and then be forced down into a chair. When their plates were filled, all stood for a solemn grace, said by Father, but the others standing with heads bowed were unaware that Emily and Fentiman spent the short time stealing glances at each other. The meal was excellent, plain food properly cooked, plain, apart from roast potatoes, which added much to Argent’s enjoyment. The meal finished, all fell to talking, all sated and content. After some minutes the conversation split, then Fentiman and Emily rose and he helped her on with her cloak and without a word they left through the front door. Argent and Argent Senior, being at the opposite end of the table from their now empty places, looked querulously at Enid.
“Some fresh air.”
Then she pointed an arresting finger at Argent.
“Nothing from you!”
Argent shrank down and back into his chair much to the amusement of his Father and Beryan, but then tea arrived, the cups being carefully placed before these two, but slammed down in front of Argent. The message was very clear and so, as much to avoid the ire of his elder sister, he changed the subject, turning to his Father.
“My warning, or worry, as you termed it, that I mentioned last time; has anything happened?”
His Father sat back in his chair, then looked at Beryan.
“Not sure. One of Broke’s estate workers tipped us the word of a few strangers arriving at his place back week before last. A few neighbours and I kept watch a
t his gate and outside here, but nothing happened, bar a handful walking down the hill, one evening. Since then, all’s been very quiet. Not much happening at Higher Barton at all, few lights even, but I hear that Broke’s got extra troubles of his own.”
Argent looked at his Father, old, yes, but solid, craggy, and in the best spirits he had seen in him for some time.
“Yes, Broke’s been suspended from duty. Stood down, him and Cheveley.”
“That I’d heard but had no confirmation. Something to do with smuggling.”
“Correct. And it was me as broke the news.”
Argent Senior nodded, eyebrows elevated.
“Well Blessings Be!”
What that meant was submerged in the re-appearance of Fentiman and Emily. Argent lifted up his head and began to grin, Enid saw all the signs and a commanding finger was once more thrust in his direction, backed up by a fierce frown. Argent understood its dire threat and her knitted brow correctly and he wisely saw the need to hold his peace. With the meal finished all sat by the fire, taking happily, mostly about Jacob, all save Emily and Fentiman who sat at the table, hands just touching. However, they came over to the fire when presents were exchanged, but not opened; that would be for Boxing Day, the Argent family held to the day when the alms box would be opened for the poor in the church down the hill.
The moving shadow through the window told of the failing daylight and so farewells were made. Whilst Argent did the rounds of his family, Fentiman and Emily’s hands lingered together just a little overlong, thus she was the last to kiss her brother good-bye. On the hill down Fentiman began laughing out loud. Argent turned to look at him
“Something you ate, Henry?”
Fentiman did not reply immediately
“I’ve asked Emily if I may write to her. She said yes!”
There was a pause whilst he laughed some more.
“Do you think your Father will give his consent?”
Argent stopped, as did Fentiman. Argent seized his right hand in both his.
“Nothing more certain, my dear fellow, I’d safely say that you can assume it. I’m pleased with that, for you both, more than I can say.”
He paused to grin at him full in the face, then face his own front to walk jauntily on down the hill.
At the same time Argent’s barge crew were emerging from the Pale Horse, Captain of the Foretop, Gabriel Whiting most prominent in all his finery as a “right man o’ war’s man.”
“Well, that’s me sorted.”
“Gettin’ spliced strikes me as more like gettin’ sunk”
“That’s enough from you, Able Jones. I now sees myself as a man of substance an’ property an’ I needs a wife to go with it. My Molly’s come along at just the right time, an’ you’m right, I may truly be sunk, but not in the way you means.”
The giant Moses King understood perfectly and clapped his dinner-plate hand in full support on Whiting’s shoulder, then Whiting turned to his crewmates.
“All you lot have got to come! An’ lookin’ ready for an Admiral’s inspection!”
“You fixed a time? When?”
“Captain permittin’, day after tomorrow!”
Beddows, a native Northerner, made his own observation.
“Things moves quick in these parts.”
The day after tomorrow Whiting stood with his bride before an understanding Vicar, this understanding having been obtained in the form of a Bishop’s licence, negating the need for the Banns. Molly’s brother had hired a fast horse for the vital journey to Truro. The final required permission had come with Argent airily and cheerfully waving his assent from behind his desk to allow them all ashore, this time wholly on their own account. The church was largely devoid of colour, bar the variegated greens of ivy, holly, and laurel gathered by the bride’s family the day before to add to the Christmas decorations remaining in place. Molly’s family added a white spray of hellebore, the “Christmas Rose, but all was clean and polished and truly “done proper”.
Truly “done proper” was, indeed, the correct term, for all suspicions and traditions had been thoroughly observed and allowed for. On their way to the altar, Molly wore her best dress, the blue trimming at the hem having been just not quite completed the night before, this omission there to give her something to sew up immediately prior to leaving her house. All mirrors were hid away, she had walked out over smashed crockery to be proceeded by a fiddler and at the church gate was a chimney sweep who tipped a black cat out of a bag for it to immediately run up a tree. Whiting stood at the altar wearing a shirt that Molly had hastily made, but almost all was hidden under his Captain of the Foretop jacket. Able Jones stood by to hold his hat, newly tarred and sparkling, but more importantly, the ring. On the Groom’s side were his fellow foretopmen; Fraser and his Mates, plus a few others, who could be trusted not to “run”. Argent, Fentiman, and Sanders provided the Officer’s presence at the back. Wentworth was still too frightening.
The reception back at the Pale Horse was just short of a riot. After the breaking of the bride’s pie, Molly danced the wreath dance, surrounded by some married women, which was sedate enough, until some from amongst her side grew very irritated at the inhibition of their drinking time and, before due time, they broke into the circle to steal the wreath. At least then tradition took over when her brother broke up the wreath and scattered it to the assembly. Molly then put on a matron’s cap to symbolise the end of her “spinster days”. The three Officers had long taken themselves away, which was just as well for then the serious drinking and the roughneck games began and went on, to be terminated with Able Jones and a cousin of Molly having a fight out the back. After three rounds they forgot what the fight was all about so each downed a quart in honour of the other. Then it began to snow, which was a sign of great good fortune, and perhaps Molly and Whiting did take the time to look out of their upstairs window to see it, but this was viewed with some doubt. In every way, it had been the most perfect wedding.
oOo
Argent, as was dictated by his disposition these days, was impatient for the mail and often went ashore to fetch it for himself. It was now 4th January, so, just days previously, New Year’s Eve had arrived and this had been celebrated in much the same way as Christmas, the only difference being that the crew were not served by their Officers. However, a good meal had been consumed and then, as for Christmas, came the drinking, necessarily constrained aboard a serving warship, but not the dancing, at which each Watch did their best to outdo the other. At five to midnight, Eli Reece, as the oldest, had been carried around in a hammock, suitably robed and bearded, to resemble old Father Time. A boarding pike had to serve as his scythe. At the vital moment, he disappeared and in came the youngest ship’s boy, bound up like a babe, carried on a bosun’s chair, a white sheet around his loins and a carved dummy stuck in his anxious mouth. Argent still smiled at the memory of both festive affairs, but now he was carrying the mail sack back to his cabin, taken from the hands of Marine Sergeant Ackroyd. The shouts of the men making the last additions to complete the overhaul, were shut out by the closed door and he was alone. The sack was tipped onto the desk and there, at last, was a letter he both recognised and was eager for.
He broke the seal and read. His pulse rate increased at the greeting; “My Dearest Reuben”, but then she wrote as a conspirator, writing of a secret plot, known only to themselves. Fallows estate was coming up for auction 10th January and the auction was to be at Kinsale. Argent thought quickly; today was the fourth. Even if they sailed on the next tide to arrive ideally on the ninth, five days would be a fast passage with the wind fixed due West and wholly unfavourable and also, on top, he had no permission to leave port. He read her signing off, “Your own Sinead”, looking at this for a full minute, then he cudgelled his thoughts back to the immediate. He opened the rest of the mail and found, to his relief, nothing vital and so he piled them on a corner of the desk for Fentiman and Maybank. Grabbing his hat on the run he left his cabin, calling
for Bosun Fraser.
Up on deck Fraser came immediately, to be told to prepare his barge. Fraser moved off to obey, but Argent was not finished.
“The overhaul?”
“Last jobs just finishin’ now, Sir.”
“How many are we down on our complement?”
“Twenty-two, Sir.”
“The most for some time.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Injuries and such, plus illness?”
“All those, Sir, plus old age.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you Bosun.”
Fraser saluted and made off to oversee the last of the operations to lower the barge. Soon Argent was on his way to the quayside, steered by a very happy Gabriel Whiting, who knew that he may be granted some time to visit his new wife, whom he had set up, using his prizemoney, in a small but well appointed cottage just up from the harbour. All kinds of anticipations ran through his mind and his hopes were high, for his Captain rarely returned within the hour. As for Argent, he had forced himself to be calm, it would be some while before they could sail, even if permission was granted, for the tide was on the make and with some way to run in, having just turned three hours before from complete ebb. Suddenly he felt cold and realised he had, in his haste, forgotten his boatcloak and so was grateful to step out of the boat, mount the steps and begin his journey, but at this point Whiting asked his question.
“Permission to go into town, Sir?”
Argent looked at Whiting, well knowing his circumstances.
“One hour, Whiting. No more.”
Whiting saluted and turned to check the moorings as Argent turned away to be about his own business. This took him rapidly to the office of Commodore Budgen and, thankfully, Venables sent him straight down to see the unpredictable Commodore. Argent got straight to the point, even before he was sat in one of the two visitor chairs placed before the desk in the warm office. The desk was strategically placed to benefit its occupant most from the fire; Budgen cared for his creature comforts in more ways than one.
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