by Peter Greene
“As long as she brings you home to us again,” added Barbara.
“We all trust in the lieutenant’s abilities, my dear,” said Nathaniel.
“Lieutenant? I thought Harrison was now a commander,” said Barbara, somewhat surprised.
“Hoy! Here we go again!” said Sean, smiling.
“I’ll be attendin’ to my duties, Admiral,” said Jenkins. “No one better to explain the terminology than you, sir,” he added as he tipped his hat and made his exit into the wharf.
“Dear me,” said Jonathan, laughing, knowing what was about to be discussed. He and Sean had this same question, and only after months of discussion with Jenkins and others aboard the Danielle did they finally understand. The boys attended to their lockers as they contained their most precious possessions: maps, telescopes, cooking gear, spare uniform pieces, whitening chalk, Sean’s flute, and Jonathan’s silver star he had received from Delain. He opened the locker and placed the star, on its chain, about his neck.
“Harrison was a lieutenant,” began Nathaniel. “However, for this mission he is now a commander. He will captain the Paladin.”
“So, he is a captain, like William Walker?” asked Barbara, trying to connect the facts.
“No, no, he is captain only while on the ship. He is a commander in rank,” said Nathaniel.
“Isn’t ‘captain’ a rank?” asked Barbara, innocently.
“Ah! I see the issue,” said Nathaniel as the boys began to collect their belongings from inside the carriage. “Yes, ‘captain’ is the rank, being a title, and also it is a position on the ship itself.”
“Oh,” said Barbara, smiling, thinking she had finally understood the strange lexicon of the Royal Navy. “‘Captain’ is a position—”
“Yes!” said Nathaniel, nodding.
“Like port and starboard!” exclaimed Barbara.
Nathaniel frowned.
“Ah, no, my dear. You see, Thomas Harrison was a lieutenant, and up until recently, lieutenants could captain small, unrated ships, such as the Paladin, and the Echo. However, that has all changed, and in order to command a vessel of that size, Thomas had to be promoted to the rank of commander, you see?”
Barbara nodded.
“So, he is now Commander Harrison, able to command the Paladin and act as its captain, and even, at times, he could also be the master, however, I believe Mister Fawcett is presently assigned as master of the Paladin, and Harrison will only command her. Now do you understand?” asked Nathaniel.
Barbara considered him, pausing for a second.
“Perfectly,” she said.
“I knew you would get it, my dear,” said Nathaniel as he stepped toward the pier to admire the ship.
Barbara stood still for a moment, then quickly turned to the boys and whispered, “I have no idea what he just said.”
Just then, a call came from aboard the Paladin.
“Mister Moore! Private Flagon! Nice of you to join us!”
It was Harrison, and next to him, Lieutenant Alexander.
“Are we late?” asked Jonathan, truly concerned.
“No, no,” answered Harrison. “Lieutenant Alexander and I spent the night aboard and have already started the final preparations. Hurry up now!”
“Yes, sir!” said the boys, as they started pulling their lockers toward the plank.
“Excuse me!” called Admiral Moore. “A proper good-bye?”
Jonathan and Sean looked at each other, then quickly set down their belongings and rushed back to the admiral and Miss Thompson.
“Listen boys,” he said, bending down to see them eye to eye. “Be careful. Just because there is a peace, the sea is still a dangerous place. And I know you know that; however, you are still young and inexperienced. Write us when you get to Gibraltar. There are many ships sailing from there to here.”
“According to our orders, we will probably be bringing the letter back ourselves!” laughed Jonathan.
“Aye, we probably will! Then we can just tell you what we wrote!” said Sean.
“That would be best,” agreed Miss Thompson.
“However,” cautioned Admiral Moore. “It is not unusual to have your orders changed at a moment’s notice. We may not see you for months.”
Jonathan and Sean again met each other’s glance. It was true that they were excited to be at sea once again; however, all they had ever wanted was to be a family. Since returning from Africa and the Castle of Fire, they had remained in London for only ten months, in their apartment at Charing Cross, under the love and care of Admiral Moore—and more often than not, Miss Barbara Thompson, as she visited regularly. Just as they were settling into a routine that had them comfortable, they were off once again.
Jonathan hugged his father tightly, and Sean attached himself to Miss Thompson.
“We will miss you both,” Jonathan said. “And we will take care!”
“I will watch out for Jonathan, don’t you worry!” said Sean. “I always have!”
“And watch out for yourself, little bomb maker!” said Miss Thompson, fighting back tears. “We love you.”
With that, the boys turned to their lockers and dragged them up the plank to the Paladin. Once aboard, Nathaniel and Barbara watched them salute their friend and new commander, Thomas Harrison. He returned the salute, and all waved a final good-bye to those ashore.
Harrison had been in love with the Paladin since he had first seen her. Not only was she beautiful, she was a fighter if needed, carrying sixteen thirty-two-pound carronades on the main deck, with eight to each side. These powerful, short-range guns made the ship a formidable adversary for any unprotected vessel and for any warship close to her size. The guns were exposed to the elements and needed constant attention and maintenance. The only other guns were the two stern chasers, both much smaller at only sixteen pounds. Though many ships of her size had bow chasers, the Paladin was rarely chasing for long, and her speed made stern-mounted guns more practical.
She was roughly one hundred feet long and measuring thirty and one-half feet at the beam. She was similar in many ways to most brig-rigged sloops, however, due to design changes in her mast-and-sail construction requested by Admiral Asher Wells in his almost-secret dealings with the shipwrights in Scotland, she outperformed all ships near her size. The Echo, again of Wells’s secret works, also had experimental design elements, though, as fast as she was, she sailed a knot slower than the Paladin in almost every test.
Both were technically cruiser-class ships and handled surprisingly well. Many vessels of that design had a tendency to roll in the waves; however, even the most severe critics of Wells’s design had admitted that the rolling tendency had been reduced greatly on the Echo and Paladin, certainly due to some secret keel design that few had ever seen.
A few nonfunctional attributes of the Paladin included a teakwood deck—rare but not completely uncommon, a small galley underneath in the hold that had a permanent iron stove, and many fine wood-worked scrolls and flourishes inside the captain’s cabin and surrounding its four paned windows that looked astern.
Harrison had read and heard all he could about the ship, and he came to a single critical conclusion among the many praises and admirations: the captain’s cabin, for reason of the sleek stern design, was smaller than a ship of this size should have. Measuring slightly over eighteen feet wide and only five feet deep, it was tiny. Of course, he would never mention to anyone that he had even the slightest disapproval of anything about the Paladin, and he kept this thought to himself.
The ship continued to make final preparation for departure. Jonathan was assigned with Lieutenant Alexander, checking on late-arriving stores and securing material in its proper place. It seemed that the new lieutenant had been hard at work, and somewhat to Jonathan’s displeasure, had done many of the duties that would normally be assigned to the midshipman. Watching him address the men and instruct them, Jonathan could see that Alexander was confident yet approachable. He was a leader, yet he pitched in
with his own hands and back when necessary. He was efficient, intelligent, and even likable. This made Jonathan feel torn. He liked the young man, though he set a hard example to follow.
I will try harder, thought Jonathan, and he turned back to his work.
On the main deck, Sean was assigned to watch the gangplank, along with Private Hicks, both charged with making sure no unauthorized persons came aboard.
“Not sure what would cons’tute someone bein’ unauthorized,” said Hicks, “But the mere sight o’ two rough-’n-tumble marines the likes of us should scare most of ’em away!’
“As long as we don’t have to shoot anyone,” said Sean with a sigh. “I don’t want to fire this blunderbuss, and if I had to, well, I think I’d miss anyway!”
“Well, then,” said Hicks, “nothin’ to worry ’bout then, eh?”
No one, of course, needed to be fired upon, and the two had been able to welcome many of the crew, some new to them such as Crump and Crystal, two silent men for the most part, coming from the southern part of the city. They seemed angry and kept to themselves, accepting their assignments to begin the never-ending cleaning of the deck.
Jonathan joined Sean and Hicks at the plank and reveled in the happy reunions. More old mates appeared for duty, including the brothers Stredney—Nicolas and Colin—former apprentice cooks. Berkeley and Boston, their old crewmates from the Danielle, appeared with little Paulie Garvey, who had sailed with them aboard the Poseidon, the Danielle, and now the Paladin. Garvey, however, was not little anymore. Over the last two years they had been together, Garvey had now grown to be nearly as tall as Commander Harrison.
In favor to all was Garvey’s bringing of his young cousin, Carl Southcott—who had agreed to sail with them after a year on the merchant ship Angel—and his mate, Jim Graham.
“Jim here is a Graham from the old Wadsworth Farms, famous for horse manure and the like!” said Garvey.
“You can see why I chose a life at sea!” laughed Graham. This sent the others into hysterics.
“Karl here, he’s my mum’s mum’s sister’s boy!” continued Garvey. “Known him as a brother, I have. An able seaman just as Graham.”
“Sir!” said the new crewmen as they beheld Midshipman Jonathan Moore, bowing low before the officer, then standing straight as arrows, smiling.
“Glad to have you aboard, Southcott, Graham,” Jonathan said in an official tone. “You were both on the Angel? A fine ship.”
“Well, I’ll be!” said Sean as he considered the two young men. Others were staring at them as well. Though not in a navy uniform, Southcott wore a dark-blue coat over a white blouse and white britches. If he only had silver piping around the edges of the jacket, he could pass for a midshipman—in fact, a certain midshipman: Jonathan Moore.
“Ya look almost the same! Yer hair’s even alike!” said Sean. “Except the face, of course, but from the back, or with a quick glance, you look like twins!”
“I feel sorry for you then,” laughed Jonathan as he also noticed the resemblance.
“Glad to be aboard either way, sir!” said Southcott. “I heard the food is better than what we got in the merchant fleet.”
“I doubt that,” said Berkeley.
“We know too. My brother and I, we used to make it,” said Nicolas.
“Now Berkeley does,” said Colin. “And it didn’t get any better.”
Smith and Jones, their old mates from the Poseidon, had now arrived, and they continued their cantankerous arguing of inane subjects, even as they walked up the plank together.
“Ahoy, Smith! Ahoy, Jones!” called Sean happily as the men made their way to the deck. “Good to see ya!”
“Sorry we are late,” said Smith.
“We are not late,” responded Jones. “The ship is still here and now so are we, so how can we be late?”
“Well, it’s not as if she is our personal yacht,” countered Smith, “and is waiting for us before she sails on a pleasure cruise! We work here! Our mates count on us!”
“They can count on us again, then, and we will help them finish their duty,” Jones said.
“Yer an imbecile,” said Smith.
“Yer a moron then,” said Jones.
“Both types are welcome,” said Hicks as he shooed them aboard.
“I’m sure a happy man that today is Sunday!” added Smith.
“As am I,” said Jones.
“Why would you be any happier today, than, let’s say, tomorrow?” asked Colin Stredney.
“I’d ask the same,” said Sean.
“Tomorrow? Monday?” asked Jones with a worried look. “Oh no! Dear me! Never set sail on a Monday!”
“Don’t ’cha know?” asked Smith.
“Know what?” asked Sean.
Smith and Jones took a deep look at each other, frowned, and shook their heads.
“Monday’s unlucky! Cursed!” said Smith. He looked about the ship, up at the heavens, as if to expect some danger from above.
“Tis true!” added Jones. “And tomorrow is the first Monday in April! Even worser!”
“Worser?” asked Hicks, with a laugh.
“You know what I mean,” continued Jones. “The second Monday in April is the day in the ol’ Bible that Cain slew his brother, Abel!”
“And that makes it unlucky?” asked Jonathan.
“Aye, sir!” said Jones and Smith in unison.
“Then it sure is a happy day that we sail on a Sunday!” added Colin Stredney.
“Is Sunday good?” asked Nicolas, looking upward as if to be prepared for the onslaught of an angry God.
Smith and Jones smiled broadly.
“The luckiest!” they said.
“Then you all best get your work done, or we will be delayed!” added Jonathan. “And that may mean Commander Harrison decides to set sail tomorrow morning!”
The men now went into action with earnest.
Sean just smiled; then something caught his eye, something ashore. There, he saw a red-coated marine walking with purpose along the pier toward them. His head was held high, and he was slightly heavy, but the extra mass only made him look even more splendid in a brand-new red uniform of the marines, complete with wide white sash, a sheathed sword, and best of all, a sergeant’s insignia on his lapel.
“Look, Hicks!” he said in wonder. “Is that Corporal Hudson?”
“No,” said Hicks, amazed and pleased. “That thar is Sergeant Hudson! Newly minted, it seems!”
Sean could not contain his excitement, and he left his post to rush down the plank and greet his superior.
“Sergeant, sir! Marine Private Sean Flagon reporting for duty!” Sean stood as straight as a board, smart salute executed, then stared out to some point in space that was toward the sergeant, but not directly into his eyes.
Hudson turned and slowly looked the private up and down with a sour face, almost too sour. He inspected every detail of Sean’s uniform, every button, every inch of the sleeves, his hat, his sword, grunting disapproval every second or two.
“Flagon!” said Hudson in a deep, bellowing voice, now standing back and taking in the entire display of what was Sean Flagon. “You call yourself a marine?” he yelled.
This took Sean completely aback.
“Y-yes, sir, I believe so! I spent all night on my uniform—”
“All night?” Hudson exploded. Then he bent down to Sean’s level and stared at him eye to eye. Slowly his face changed from a most horrible scowl, to a scrunched-up prune, and finally it rested upon the jolly, warm, and smiling face of Sean’s friend and coconspirator.
“Good to see ya, Seany!” he whispered.
Sean smiled back and winked. “Good to see you as well, Sergeant Hudson. Kind of difficult to get used to the title after all this time of simply saying Hudson.”
“Aye, we will all get used to it. Had to put on a show for those about us. Can’t be showing any favor, you understand.”
“Yes, sir!” Sean said loudly so all could hear. “I�
��ll try to do better in the future, sir!”
This startled Hudson some, until he realized that Sean was simply playing along.
“Well, you sure-as-the-wind-blows better do…better, Flagon!” bellowed Hudson. “Take that poor excuse for a marine Hicks and report to the magazine. I will take plank duty. And for the king’s sake, work on that aiming, ya hear! On the double!”
* * * * *
After an hour, the spring day had continued warming, and the rays of the sun painted a yellowish glow to the teak deck of the Paladin and to the sails, still furled and awaiting the orders to be let down. The entire ship glowed, even more than usual. The experienced men, the “volunteers,” as Jonathan and Sean called them, knowing how special and privileged they were to be aboard such a fine ship, appeared slightly more joyous in their work, knowing that soon they would depart. The Paladin, under sail on the open sea, would be a sight for those ashore, but an adventure for those aboard.
As the preparations were complete and midday meals scheduled to be served once underway, Captain Harrison ordered all on deck to be addressed before they left port. Jonathan and Alexander made sure all were at attention and then returned to the stern. Hudson lined up the assigned complement of marines, twelve in all, behind the captain on the stern, to show their support of the commander and his officers, and to let the crew see that they were watching everyone.
Unlike the larger, rated vessels in His Majesty’s Navy, Paladin had no poop deck—no raised area above the captain’s cabin that designated the commander’s special area. Nevertheless, it was clear to all that the space at the rearmost portion of the upper deck, behind the aft mast, was for officers only. Unless you had been specifically ordered to perform duty there, it was off limits.
“Men,” started Captain Harrison. “Welcome aboard His Majesty’s Ship Paladin, the swiftest, most beautiful lady to sail the vastness of the briny blue! For those who have previously served here, welcome back. For those who are new to this ship, mind her well. She is the fastest and most graceful sloop ever to sail the seas, and we will carry on her tradition of service to the Crown as a symbol of British might. She has a fine reputation, and we will not tarnish it. Look about you to your brothers. Look!”