The Seahorse

by Michael Aye

  “Make and mend,” Dagan continued, “gives the crew time to take care of personal needs.” Seeing he still did not comprehend, Dagan said, “Thursday afternoons is traditionally the day and time men are given to fix torn clothing. Them that can throw a fancy stitch or knows how to embroidery will fancy up their shirts or trousers. Some will embroider the name of the ship on a ribbon and sew it on their hats. A man that can read and write will read letters or write them for those who can’t, thereby picking up a shilling or two or an extra tot of rum. Some ships serve punishment every Thursday and pipe ‘make and mend’ afterwards. Gabe rarely flogs a man so most punishment is given the morning after an offense is made.”

  “I see,” Sir Victor responded. “I’ve been amazed there hasn’t been a flogging or two during my time on the ship. I’ve seen it many a time aboard other ships.”

  “Not those under Lord Anthony you ain’t. He feels that flogging means that a ship’s officer has failed. Not every time, of course, but most of the time.”

  “Do you agree?” Sir Victor asked.

  “Look about you,” Dagan replied. “See how everybody goes about their duties with rarely a fuss.”

  When he nodded, Dagan continued, “Well, you should have seen her before Gabe took command.”

  “I see,” Sir Victor said, but Dagan doubted he did. It would be tough for any landsman to fully understand the hell life could be aboard a ship with a flogging captain.

  Siding up to Dagan so as to not be overheard, Sir Victor asked, “When do the men bathe?”

  “Bathe?” Dagan repeated feigning shock. “Why would they bathe? They’re at sea.”

  Seeing Sir Victor’s eyes grow big, Dagan laughed and said, “Friday is usually the day but Gabe will allow the crew to rig a pump and wash twice a week…in salt water mind you, not fresh water. There’s never enough of that. There’s only a few of the men who has soap. That’s why Gabe allows a twice a week washing. Otherwise, there’s some that can get rank.”

  “Aye,” Sir Victor said. “I’ve run across a couple. That’s why I asked.”

  “Well, if he gets too rank you can bet a man’s mates will see he gets scrubbed. Bart tells a story of a bosun’s mate who came aboard the first ship Lord Anthony commanded. Said a gull was sitting on a piling and when the man passed it to walk up the gangway the bird keeled over dead. Them days, Lord Anthony welcomed every new crew member, petty officer, and above. When His Lordship walked up to shake the man’s hand, the stench was so bad His Lordship had to turn away gagging, tears coming from his eyes. The man took a step forward, thinking the captain had suddenly taken ill. The closer he got the more Lord Anthony backed up still gagging until finally he held out his hand for the man to stay where he was at. Captain Buck, he was a lieutenant then, saw the commotion and thought the man was attacking the captain. He ran towards the two but slid to a stop when he got close and shouted, ‘Damme, man have you shat yourself?’ Bart then walked up and swore it was so bad the flies dropped dead when they got close. Lord Anthony ordered a screen be put up so as not to embarrass the man. Then he had his servant bring a new bar of soap, which he slid across the deck under the screen and had the man wash from head to toe with a crew pumping up seawater from a deck pump. He then had the fellow empty his ditty bag and had the man wash all his belongings. I think Gabe took to twice a week washings after hearing Bart’s story.”

  “I believe I would as well,” Sir Victor said, not quite sure whether to believe the tale or not.

  After a bit Dagan said, “Saturdays is when the ship washes clothes for inspection on Sunday. After divisions, that is the men and the ship has been inspected, Gabe usually reads a few passages from the Bible. Often someone will request a certain scripture. They like stories about David but don’t care too much about Moses beyond him parting the sea.”

  “Wandering around in the desert doesn’t seem to strike a chord, does it?” Sir Victor said, understanding the men’s feelings.

  “Once a month Gabe reads the Articles of War. Most of the men, even those who can’t read or write, can recite them. They’ve heard them so much. Gabe once had a contest with Lieutenant Davy being the judge. Members of the crew could stand and recite an article. The man reciting the most articles with the fewest mistakes won a guinea. One time the sod who won went ashore with a working party, slipped away, got drunk, and was punished for drunkenness on duty. When Gabe asked if he had anything to say the poor man answered, ‘Nay, Captain. It was knowing the articles that won the contest for me. Only I should have spent the guinea on a doxy and not the drink.’ Gabe agreed with the man.”

  “Did he flog him?” Sir Victor interrupted.

  “No, just took his grog issue for a week but promised a flogging if it happened again.”

  “I recall the captain eating in the wardroom last Sunday,” Sir Victor said. “Does he usually do that? I thought he was the one to invite the officers to dine with him.”

  “It’s a tradition that the captain be invited to the wardroom on Sundays. But it’s an invitation only type thing. I’ve heard of captains that were never invited and some who were that wouldn’t attend. His Lordship…Gabe and Admiral Anthony’s father…told it was a good time to get to know the men who may be needed to take the captain’s place suddenly. A time to build confidence and kind of an unofficial time to speak of certain matters. It’s the first lieutenant’s place to make sure questions and merriment stay within bounds. If a man gets as we term it, in his cups, it’s his fellow officers’ duty to get him to his cabin. I’ve not heard of that happening very often.”

  Dagan realized he’d been talking so long he’d thereby neglected his pipe and it had gone out. He ducked down, cupped his pipe, and lit it again.

  Sir Victor watched as he lit the pipe with such practiced ease. A very knowledgeable man, this Dagan, he thought. A man of mystery if you believed some of the tales told about him. Yet a man who held the respect of everyone from the admiral down to the midshipmen. Will I ever gain such loyalty? No, it’s rare a spy gains friendships, let along the respect and loyalty the Anthonys, the Dagans, and the Barts of the world enjoy. That’s why I like Captain Anthony, Sir Victor realized. He has been open, honest, and at least willing to see the needs of my kind. Well, if he ever needs a friend I will be there, Sir Victor thought to himself. I’ll be there.

  From forward, the fiddler struck up a tune and several men burst into a song. Turning to Dagan, Sir Victor was about to ask, “What’s that?” But Dagan answered the question before it escaped his lips. “It’s time for the grog issue. The tune is ‘Nancy Dawson,’ another of our traditions. When a sailor hears the tune he knows it’s time for the grog.”

  “I see,” Sir Victor said as the men lined up and cups seemed to appear out of nowhere. I’ll bet that’s where they get the saying, “He’s in his cups,” he thought. Hearing his stomach growl he realized he was hungry. Looking at his watch, he saw it was still some hours to dinner. I think I’ll walk about a bit, he decided. Maybe I’ll happen in on the captain and he’ll invite me to a glass. If not maybe I can get into the grog line.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Land ho!” The shout came down from the mainmast lookout just as the ship’s bell rang six bells in the forenoon watch.

  “A perfect landing, Captain. I see it’s not yet noon so your prediction of by noon is right on.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Gabe answered Sir Victor. “But we are still a good eight leagues or so before we make it to Carlisle Bay.”

  “How far is a league?” Sir Victor asked, trying to gain as much nautical knowledge as possible.

  “Most define a league as three and one eighth miles. However, my father always said there’s no use splitting hairs so most ship commanders will round it off to three miles equal a league.”

  Doing the quick math, Sir Victor said, “That’s twenty-four miles. You can see that far at sea?”

  “Not from the deck but from the mainmast lookout post,” Gabe answered. “I suspect the lo
okout has sighted Needham’s Point.”

  “Well, it’s still a perfect landing you’ve made,” Sir Victor said.

  “Most of the credit for that goes to the master, Mr Gunnells. He’s the one that lays the course. I just tell him where I want to go.”

  “I think you are just being modest, Captain, but I’ll take your word for it,” Sir Victor said, dropping the subject.

  ***

  Lieutenant Wiley was on the quarterdeck when Lieutenant Davy came to relieve him. Davy noticed how Wiley seemed to hang around while the forenoon was relieved and the afternoon watch was set. They were almost to Carlisle Bay so things would be happening quickly in order to get the ship ready to enter port, fire the salute, and drop anchor.

  As Wiley seemed to hesitate to speak, Davy asked, “Something on your mind?”

  “Well…yes. How long do you think it will be before we see any prize money?”

  “Long enough I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting on it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is this your first prize?” Davy asked.

  “Yes,” Wiley admitted sheepishly.

  “Well, it’ll come but not soon. Could be a year, could be longer. The captain will see you gets your share though. So don’t worry about it.”

  “I won’t,” Wiley replied. He then said, “One more thing. Do you think Lavery will get to keep the xebec?”

  Davy looked at his fellow lieutenant in dismay. He almost asked, “In what Navy have you been in all these years?” But he refrained from doing so. Wiley might have been senior in regards to time in service but he had almost no experience. He had constantly pumped Davy for information since weighing anchor in Portsmouth. He had seemed reluctant to talk with Lavery, but why? He was a good sort, he never shirked his duties, and he seemed to care. As an officer he had improved significantly since starting this commission. Well he might be senior, Davy thought, but he’s got enough sense to know who his sea daddy was. He’s got the first lieutenant’s job on his mind, Davy suddenly realized.

  “Mr Lavery is the second senior lieutenant under Lord Anthony, who is not in command of a vessel,” Davy explained. “Lieutenant Lamb is senior but I don’t know much about him. The xebec’s the size of a frigate, which is a captain’s command. I would expect either Lizard’s captain to get her or maybe Alert’s Taylor. It might be a four-way switch…Culzean to the xebec, Taylor to Lizard, Jackson to Alert, then possibly Lavery to Viper. However, if any of that happens you’ll be the new first lieutenant. Or…His Lordship could throw a new officer into the mix and all this calculating will be for naught. Do like I do, sit back and let His Lordship figure it out. That way you don’t wind up with indigestion.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Wiley said.

  Glancing over to see Gunnells eyeing him, Davy realized he’d cut it close. “Mr Ally.”

  “Yes, sir. My compliments to the captain and we are entering Carlisle Bay.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Mr Gaff.”

  “Here, sir,” his look saying I’ve been here while you’ve been gabbing.

  Davy swallowed, and then ordered, “Call all hands. Reduce sails for entering the harbour.”

  Gaff’s reply was in the form of a shrill blast from his bosun’s pipe.

  “Cutting it close are we?”

  “Sorry Captain.”

  “That’s all right, Davy. But I concur with your recommendations of leaving the decisions to your betters. That way you won’t have indigestion.”

  This caused Davy to swallow twice before he could speak. “Yes sir, Captain.”

  As Gabe turned away to speak with the master, Davy thought, Damme the skylight is open. The captain heard every word from his cabin. That won’t do me or Wiley any good…damme.

  ***

  Gabe with Sir Victor in tow reported to the flagship immediately upon dropping anchor. “I trust I can leave the ship in capable hands,” Gabe said to his two lieutenants. “Should something arise that will limit your attention to duty please inform the master so he can assume the watch.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the two said in unison.

  Bart was at the entry port and fell in beside Gabe after Buck had welcomed him aboard. Hazard escorted Sir Victor to the wardroom for a glass, which was Lord Anthony’s way of seeing Gabe and being brought up to date in a precise yet timely manner.

  “Damn, Gabe,” Bart swore as they crossed the coaming and went down the companionway. “Be they a ship on the ocean what you don’t consider taking?”

  “Aye,” Gabe replied, glad to see his brother’s burly cox’n. “There was one but it smelled like a whore’s drawers so I thought you’d already taken her.”

  “Impish, that’s what ye be, talking to old Bart that way.”

  The marine sentry came to attention and opened the door to the admiral’s cabin, allowing Gabe and Bart to pass.

  “Gabe, how good to see you!” Anthony exclaimed. “It seems Dagan’s lady luck is still with you.”

  “Aye, sir. It was hellish hot for a while but we had better gunners.”

  After Gabe finished his narrative, Buck, who’d made his way down, said, “So you got a prize and the smashers too. Have you practiced with them yet?”

  “No sir,” Gabe admitted. “The carpenter said we’d have to make some modifications to Peregrine before we chance a test firing.”

  “How about the prize, Gabe? Does she need a lot of repair?”

  “She’s seaworthy but I wouldn’t doubt she’d need time at the dockyard in Antigua before I’d take her into battle. Druett says her guns were as mixed a lot as her crew so you may consider rearming her. I’d try to keep those eighteen pounders if possible. They cause a hellish lot of damage.”

  Thinking aloud, Buck said, “Who do we put on her?” This caused a chuckle from Gabe.

  “Pray tell what’s humoured you?” Anthony asked.

  “That’s been on my second lieutenant’s mind as well.”

  “Surely he can’t think it would be him?” Buck asked.

  “No sir, he’s just trying to figure a way to get Lavery promoted so he can become the first lieutenant.”

  “Well, at least he’s enthusiastic about it,” Buck said after hearing Gabe’s tale. “I can’t get Lamb to decide if he’s to shat or go blind without asking.”

  “Well, first things first,” Anthony said. “We’ve kept our foreign affairs agent cooling his heels long enough. Bart.”

  “Aye, I’ll go collect the spy.” As Bart left, Gabe told of Sir Victor boarding the xebec and getting wounded.

  “Not afraid is he?” Buck said.

  “Nay, there’s no run in the man. He has also tried very hard to learn and understand shipboard life. The men have taken to him. He even shared a wet with them.”

  “Grog, Sir Victor?”

  “Aye, Captain Buck, and it grows on you I might add.” The sentry had failed to announce Sir Victor, who had walked in as his name was mentioned.

  Something to discuss with Bart later. He’d remedy that, Anthony thought to himself.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The dawn was breaking over the horizon. A reddish cloud hung over the Caribbean Sea. Looking out the bedroom window of Lord Ragland’s house, Anthony could hear his wife’s gentle breathing and rustle of bed linens as she rolled over. Peaceful…peaceful here inside the comfort of the house, but what about out there? What lies in wait just over the horizon? Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. Anthony couldn’t help but think of the old sailor’s quote.

  Where was Intrepid and Ferret? They should have been back a week ago. Two gray gulls could be seen as the sun rose, flapping their wings, then hovering a moment before gliding on the early morning breeze. Down at the harbour, the daily routine would be in full swing. He could picture Captain Buck, his sea hat jammed down over his eyes against the glare of the sun and glitter it caused reflecting off the long line of swells of the incoming tide.

  Gabe, on the other hand, would be hatless. His long unrul
y hair would be tied in a queue at the nape of his neck with a simple black ribbon. Buck would have on his uniform whereas Gabe was apt to have on sailor’s slops, black sea boots, and a white shirt. He may have a scarf, one that Faith had given him, knotted about his neck. Thinking of Faith caused Anthony to feel a touch of sorrow. While he and Deborah had shared last night together, Gabe had had to return to the ship last evening. The squadron would weigh anchor this morning. Anthony felt the need to be at sea. When Gabe and Sir Victor returned with the news in regards to the French signing a treaty with the Colonies, Anthony knew it would only be a matter of time before he had to face them.

  He didn’t want it to be while he was at anchor in Carlisle Bay. He had dispatched Viper to Antigua with the news. She should have been back yesterday. But a squall, perverse winds, anything could have held up the ship for a day. What worried him was Intrepid. The weight of her metal would be missed if they came up on a French fleet, especially if it was Admiral Jacques de Guimond’s eighty-gun Tourville. La Tigre had been fifty guns, as had La Vipere. As it stood now, the odds were definitely in the Frenchman’s favour. Gabe and Markham had worked hard and were finally satisfied with the carronades. They had been placed forward in each ship so as to not interfere with shrouds and other riggings and to make sure the wadding cleared the ship’s rail.

  “I wish I had two more for the quarterdeck,” Gabe said. “I’m tempted to relocate the two up forward.” But after so much had been done to locate them where they were, he didn’t have the heart to move them.

  Druett had been skeptical at first due to the short range of the weapon but after a little practice he seemed impressed with the smashers.

  “Gil.” Deborah was awake. “It’s not time yet, is it?”

  Turning to his wife, he shook his head. “No, not yet.”

  “Then come back to bed.”

  Looking once more out the window, he said, “I couldn’t sleep.”