by Alaric Bond
King remained silent, uncertain of what was to come.
"We know, of course, that you do not have the fleet you wish for. We see that your admiral is very bold in his moves, and quite clever, sending messages, and disguising his ships, but it is klaarblijkelijk – I am sorry, it has become clear that you are trying to fool us."
Still King remained silent, more than that; he was actively trying to set his face into a fixed and neutral expression that would give nothing away.
"We are not so easily deceived, although our friends, the French, they are more so." Again, the sudden smile. "But that is of no matter. It might interest you that we know about your ships, and the state of their efficiency."
King did his best to maintain his poker face, although de Winter did not seem to notice or care.
"Let me give you an example; your HMS Glatton; she will be joining you shortly." That was news to King, although he was aware that Glatton was attached to the North Sea Fleet. "She has fifty six guns, and is a new ship; new, that is to you: the Royal Navy purchased her from your East India Company just two years ago." He drew on his cigar, considering. "We too have a large fleet of merchant vessels, but we do not wish for them to be warships. The design and the construction is very different. I notice that your Glatton is not armed with the conventional gun, but has carronades, the smaller pieces, that throw a heavy shot, but not very well, I think. We too have experimented with these guns, we found that they were not reliable, and we do not use them. Putting them on a merchant ship like Glatton might be a good idea because they are lighter, and she will not be so solid, but do not try and call her a warship, because clearly she is not." De Winter paused to smoke again. "There are three other ships in your fleet like Glatton; ships that really should be carrying cargo and passengers, and yet you try to use them for fighting your battles. Foolish, Mr King. Foolish in the extreme."
The eyes of the older man fixed King with his stare as he inhaled once more.
"And your own admiraal’s ship," de Winter continued. "One of the oldest of her kind in the navy; she is badly needing repairs, yet I can walk to my window and see her sailing outside my harbour in every state of weather. Once more, many of your ships are as she is; out dated, requiring repair, or replacement, and I am expected to be frightened of them? No, I do not think that I am.
"We also appreciate that you have the problem with your men at the harbour. It is understandable; sailors the world over have hard lives, and sometimes they have to tell about it. They ask for money, that is usual, but they also ask for food. It is strange that your country, an island, relies so much on the sailors, and yet you cannot feed them. Do they fight better when they are hungry? Or do they fight at all?"
King was not certain where this was leading, and felt totally out of his depth; supposing de Winter offered him a proposition? He could not speak for his admiral, let alone the British government. Something of this must have been conveyed to de Winter, and he leant forward and addressed King directly.
"I do not want for you to worry; I am telling you this so that you can talk to your admiraal, Mr Duncan, is it not? I feel it fair that we should be true with each other." He leaned back and drew briefly at his cigar, then shot the smoke out in a thin jet, and continued in a louder voice. "We do not sail because there are difficulties ashore, not because we are frightened by your ships and the games they play. There is much planning that has been done, and I will not bore you by telling how far we have come, but you will do me the honour of passing my message to Mr Duncan."
King nodded dumbly.
"Tell him we are not fools, and we are not to be fooled, and tell him when the time is right - that is, right for us - then we will be pleased to meet him on our ocean, and fight him and his frail old fleet, should he be misguided enough to require us. Tell him that I do not look forward to that day, but have all confidence in my ships, which are of the very best, and my men, who are true sailors, and not troubled by lack of money or food or poor equipment. We have met with your ships on many occasions in the past, and we have been successful.
"Tell him we know. We know everything, and we are not worried. Should he wish to postpone our fight that would be an honourable course, and one we would fully support. We can talk as men, and trust as officers; it is better than fighting, I think we all must agree on that. You will be able to pass that message to your admiraal?"
"I am sure it could be done."
"I would hear your word, and I wish for you to speak to Mr Duncan personally, that way there can be no mistake: it is in both of our interests that we understand each other."
"I give you my word."
"Good. That is good. I hear much about Mr Duncan, and know him to be an honourable man. Perhaps what I say might make him change his mind; and many lives can be saved." Again he drew on his cigar, which was starting to get so small that King wondered how he did not burn his fingers.
"Now, we must make arrangements to get you back to your fleet, and all can be well. I shall speak with the authorities in Paris, so it will not be today—maybe a week, maybe slightly longer. Adelborst van Leiden, he is a friend of yours, I think. He has asked for you to be granted a parole, and I see no harm in that. You may go in his care, and I am sure that he will be certain you come to no harm." The smile appeared again, although this time it seemed genuine, and he actually gave a small laugh. "I think if it was that you did escape, he would not be able to be exchanged, and also I could not promote him to luitenant, in my ship. It is something I have promised, and which he had been very glad to accept." He pressed the end of the cigar down into the candle’s sconce, and smiled again at King.
"Go and eat with van Leiden, he is a fine man, and will be a good friend for you. Enjoy your stay in my country, and have a safe journey back to your ship. Send my compliments to Mr Duncan, and pass on my message. Should we meet again, I trust that we will be allies, and not fight each other." He paused and fixed King with his stare. "It is my sincere hope, and maybe it will be his also?"
* * * * *
"Well some of you will have known him, and some of you won’t, but it’s pretty clear that John Cribbins, formerly of this ship, has lost his number, so we’re going to do the right thing by him, and his family."
Flint looked about at the crowd of faces that considered this with various degrees of interest. It was the second dogwatch, and some were almost ready for sleep, while others would be joining them in four hours or so. It was also the best time for an auction; the end of the day when all were fed and sound and the last grog ration was several hours away, so none could say they were too drunk to notice what they were paying.
"Let’s start with the rules; coin, ticket or promissory note, but if the last the goods stay in hold until you gets the means to pay for them. All monies go to Cribbins’ wife, if he had one, or woman, if he had one, or family, if he had one. If he was the solitary bastard he appeared, we passes it on to Greenwich, so we alls benefits. Agreed?"
A muttered chorus of concord came from the assembled group, and Flint continued.
"Right, let’s cast off. One clasp knife; a true pusser’s dirk. British made, and nowhere near sharpened out. What am I bid?"
"A groat." It was Jameson’s voice. Jameson had first kitted out several years ago when joining Vigilant. He had been a boy then, and a lot of what he had bought had been for a boy, He was likely to be a major buyer that evening.
"Groat it is," Flint looked quizzically at the group. "Any advances?"
"Got to be worth a tanner."
"Make it a shilling."
"’alf a crown!" Jameson’s voice again, firm and determined, and for a moment there was silence.
"Half crown I’m takin’…" Flint held the knife a little longer, although, in truth it was a generous price and he was happy for it to go to the lad. His eyes flickered briefly about. "Bought!"
Jameson felt inside his shirt for his purse and dug out a silver coin, which he tossed across to his friend, who threw the knife back
in exchange. He examined it; bone handle with a good-sized fid for splicing, and a single blade that came out easily. He ran his thumb along the edge; it was even and sharp, although the end had been purposefully blunted to comply with the regulations. There was a copper ring set into the handle; he could thread a line through that and wear it about his neck and look every inch a topman. He clutched the purchase in his hand, more than pleased with himself, as Flint continued.
"Razor, strop and metal mirror, wrapped in a canvas housewife." He held the thing aloft, glancing over to Jameson, who smiled but shook his head. There were no other takers.
"Come on, good turtle handle to it, and the blade’s fresh as a daisy."
"I’ll give a cartwheel!" Jenkins voice rolled out.
"A penny, he says!" and there was general laughter.
"It’s a fair bid," Jenkins turned on the mocking crowd. "Anyone want to offer more, they’re welcome."
"Yes, but you got to pay!" Greenway reminded him, arousing further mirth.
"I’ll pay when we gets finished, like Flint said."
There was a pause while everyone digested this. "I think you might be owing Cribbins a touch already." Flint reminded him delicately.
"All debts cancelled by death," Jenkins said empathetically. "It’s the law."
"That’s only if you dies!" Greenway again and again there was laughter, as well as several cries of ‘pay up or peg out’!"
Flint looked about the group. "I’m aback here," he said. "Anyone know what the drill is?"
"He owes the money, fair and square." A voice came from the side. "Give it to ‘is wida, that’s the right way."
"He’s dead," Jenkins insisted. "All bets off: all debts paid."
A cacophony of argument and discussion broke out, with Jenkins shouting louder than most. Flint looked about uncomfortably; there were petty officers a plenty in the crowd, one would have to put a stop to things soon, or else an officer might turn up. It was an established right for a crew to barter for a dead shipmate’s possessions, but no one liked uproar, and it wasn’t the best of starts for the new draft.
"Come on, come on, let’s have some light here," he said; they paused, and looked to him expectantly. "As I sees it, Jenkins might still owe the money, but that don’t stop him buying a razor."
"But how’s he gonna pay?" someone called out.
"Straight, ’is money’s all spent, everyone knows that."
"All right," Jenkins said defiantly. "Tells you what I’ll do; I’ll toss him, double or quits!"
"Toss him double or quits?" Greenway was appalled. "But he’s dead!"
"If he’s dead, and I can still owe him money, then he aught to be able to gamble," Jenkins turned to Flint. "‘e was keen enough on it when ‘e were alive."
"Are you serious?"
"Aye, and I’ll play it straight, which is more than that lousy bastard ever did for me."
"Come now," Flint was bitterly regretting having started the auction. "It don’t do to speak ill; he ain’t with us no more; show some respect."
"Sounds to me like dead men get all the privileges round here," Jenkins grumbled.
"Fine, we’ll do it," Flint said, and reached for Jameson’s half crown. "I’ll toss this in the air, Jenkins calls. If he wins, he owes nothing, otherwise it’s double – and we’re only doing it the once," he added quickly. "You’re all going to witness?"
The crowd nodded, very satisfied with the evening’s proceedings. This was far better entertainment thn a boring auction. There was silence as Flint placed the coin on top of his clenched fist, then a muffled growl as he flipped it in the air with his thumb.
"Heads!" Jenkins called, as the coin reached the zenith, before falling noisily to the deck, and rolling to a stop. Jenkins bent down, and was silent for a moment. Then he spoke. "It’s heads," he said.
* * * * *
The house where van Leiden took him a few days later was outside the fort. Set in a small street of similar dwellings, it was low, with a large ground floor and a smaller upper level set deep into the long pent roof. A neat square front garden held a selection of immature vegetables and a ragged white goat, tied to a post. Van Leiden took King past the latter quickly, explaining that she was a fine animal but did not care much for men or strangers in particular and, seeing that King was both, he should be most careful. The front door was narrow and low, forcing King to duck down as if entering a midshipmen’s berth, but when he straightened up he found the room inside to be spacious with a generously high ceiling. The girl that van Leiden embraced was very pretty; she wore a neat long cotton dress and her fair hair was tied back behind a red headscarf. She turned to him with a pleasant, but slightly wary look, and extended her hand.
"This is Thomas, the dreadful Englishman I told you so much about: Anna, my wife."
Her touch was warm and friendly, although King could not help but notice how rough her pale hand was. "You were very kind with my husband, I am grateful."
"He has more than repaid the debt," King replied awkwardly, before a scream erupted from the far end of the room. King jumped as a small animal burst through the back door and charged straight at van Leiden, knocking him backwards in a blur of flailing arms and legs.
"Joseph, Joseph, zich houden!" the boy continued to fight, although he soon noticed King’s presence, and slowed a little. "Do not be so bad for our guest!" Now curiosity had the better of him, and the child stopped, hand held high, in the act of pounding his father, and considered King with a sidelong glance. King had been dressed in slop shirt and trousers when the Dutch had collected him from the sea. Now a prisoner, he was required to wear uniform at all times, so they had found a British senior captain’s jacket for him. It fitted him tolerably well, although King had felt uncomfortable wearing it from the start, and was doubly so now.
"This is a very important English officer. He is in the Navy, as I am." The child continued to stare at him. "You will say hello, perhaps?" van Leiden looked up at King. "We are teaching English, French and German, although it can be hard, he tends to get them confused."
"How old are you, Joseph?"
The boy looked at him, but made no attempt to reply.
"He is eight." It was another voice, a woman, slightly older than Anna but very similar in looks, had entered the room unnoticed.
"Ah, this is Joseph’s aunt, Juliana. She lives with us and helps her sister care for me," van Leiden assumed an air of self importance. "I need to be looked after very carefully."
"He is a lazy pig," Juliana added evenly. "My sister only tolerates him because she was raised on a farm." She looked at King in a very direct manner that he found quite disconcerting. "So, you are the Englishman. I am pleased to meet you; we have lamb tonight in your honour, and that is good."
"Come," van Leiden reached out for King’s arm, and lead him gently towards the back of the house. "We will sit in the garden and maybe drink some beer, and you can tell us all about your dreadful country. We have heard much from our newspapers: the many troubles you have and how you are all starving; you can inform us more. Then we will eat."
* * * * *
"Blimey, it’s a woman." Jack Dusty looked up from the ledger and peered through the gloom of the steward’s room almost unable, and certainly unwilling, to believe his eyes.
"A mark for observation," she swept into the small space, automatically touching three of the surfaces as she did. Studying her fingertips, she pulled a wry face before switching her attention back to the elderly man sitting on a stool in front of her. "Worse than that, I am a woman, and I am in charge."
"I’m sorry, ma’am…" In fact, the clerk was also confused and not a little cross. With Mr Soames incapacitated, as he had been for a considerable time now, the work of the purser had naturally fallen on him. The ship’s accounts were not in perfect order to begin with; he had tried to make sense of them, but knew in his heart he had not improved matters, and now it appeared he would have to admit the fact to this female.
"That’s right," she insisted. "I have been sent to sort out the accounts for HMS Pandora in lieu of your Mr Soames, until a more permanent replacement can be found."
"But, a woman; I never expected…" Just what the clerk did expect was not clear or ever revealed, although apparently it was not what stood in front of him.
Her eyes narrowed, and even in the poor light he knew he was being examined. "It is not totally unheard of, or so I believe."
"No sir, ma’am." Then he remembered himself and clambered off his stool. "No, you are most welcome, I am sure."
"I suppose they call you Jack Dusty?" she asked, almost absent mindedly. It was the traditional name associated with his duties.
"That they do, ma’am."
"And would you want me to call you so?"
"I’m sorry, I…"
"I mean, do you wish to continue to be known as Jack Dusty, or would you have your own title back? I have no preference either way, ‘though it has always seemed a strange rule for a man to inherit a job, and lose his name in the process."
"Jack Dusty will do fine, thank you, ma’am." He appreciated her consideration but actually was rather proud of the title.
"Now then, I need to see your journals. I understand Mr Soames is not in a position to explain matters, indeed he is to be returned to England at the first opportunity, so you will have to go through them with me. Shall we start with your day book?"
The clerk turned to the ledger on the desk in front of him.
"I was just attending to that when you came in, ma’am," he said, indicating the large fat volume that lay open on the counter. "Mr Soames had not made a complete entry for some time, just stuck these notes in the pages. I have been trying to set things right, but could not make head nor tail of some."
The woman looked over his shoulder, and picked up one of the small pieces of paper. It had a brief scribble and some numbers that could mean stock in, or stock out.
"Well, you can tell nothing from that; we will have to carry out a complete survey, and continue from there."
"A survey?"
"You do carry out surveys?"