“Ha, ha. I’ll wager she is not done making a list. You had better write it all down, or you’ll wish you’d stayed in Norfolk…
“Yes, there are seven well-armed vessels, and all the company ships carry guns, but they are usually few in number not well served. The King will allow twelve hundred men, as well, and it might be possible to move some between ships to insure an ability to fight. Would it be possible to have a meeting with some of the more experienced captains next week to review the best route to avoid trouble?”
A knock came at Neville’s cabin door at the end of the first week in port.
“Enter,” he called. “Oh, good afternoon Lt. Ratshaw.”
“Good afternoon, Sir. I am come with compliments of the gunroom on a duty to invite you and your betrothed to dinner.”
“Dinner? Here, aboard?”
“Aye, Sir. We aren’t much on this sort of thing, Sir, as we spend more time together than with women. We are of a mind to put on an engagement celebration as best we can manage, though; a proper great feast in the gunroom, Sir, navy fashion. I don’t mind saying, Sir, that I must admit there’s a great curiosity on the part of every man aboard ship to get a glimpse of the siren who’s stolen their captain’s heart.”
“I… I’m flattered, of course…. My only concern – and I think her father will say the same – is for her passage through Port Royal itself.”
“I can’t imagine it a problem. Mr. Fuller’s daughter can be surrounded by a large number of well-meaning men who are quite capable of defending themselves – and her.”
“I must accept, then, and convince her father to permit it.”
The event was scheduled, and the afternoon arrived. As former members of the company of Experiment, Captain Verley and Lt. Dinman were invited, but Vincent declined with the understanding that Neville and his fiancée would attend a similar function aboard the Comtesse du Provence.
Neville, as much a guest in the gunroom as Maria, was not involved with the preparations. Therefore, he went personally to fetch her from home with an escort of six mounted marines.
They boarded the launch and were rowed out by a crew dressed all in white. “What is it, Neville?” Maria whispered, “You have a very strange look.”
“The sig… the flags, Maria. They have ‘dressed the ship.’ They do us a tremendous honor. I have only seen this on a warship once before. It’s really over the top!” Experiment’s British colours hung from the mizzen and wafted lazily with the light breeze. Every signal flag she owned, and possibly more they had borrowed, was strung from bow to stern over the mastheads.
He went deftly up the side ladder to the tune of drums and pipes the moment the launch touched at the mainchains, gave his salutes and walked to the spot where Maria would arrive when she was slung aboard. Neville’s greatest fear was that Maria might be greeted with sights of drunkenness and fornication, but his eyes immediately told him that his officers understood. There were a few women aboard, but on Maria’s arrival, they were clothed and reasonably sober, and they appeared to be as curious about this event as the men. Maria was hoisted up from the launch in a bos'n’s chair - over the rail and down to the deck, radiant in a flowing yellow dress and wearing a plumeria flower in her hair - landing as daintily as a dandelion in a zephyr. Her small yellow-slippered foot touched the deck at the same time her hand took Neville’s waiting arm and the entire ship’s company joined in a rousing “Hip, hip, huzzah.”
“Maria,” Neville whispered, “I have no idea if this has all been planned or not, but I certainly did not expect such flourish.” The obvious awkwardness of her fiancé sent Maria, who was not unaccustomed to any such thing, into an instant blush, and while the two stood motionless for a moment, neither knowing what was the proper thing to do, a second cheer erupted and some definitely unplanned yelling began: “Welcome aboard Experiment!” “Three Cheers!” “Congratulations to youse!” “Jolly good, Sir!” “Are we invited to the wedding?” and so on and so on.
Feeling very much the clumsy midshipman, Neville took off his hat and waved it, and yelled “Thank you all!” He then guided Maria in a small circle to display her to all.
“They’re all watching, Neville,” Maria whispered, “and there are so many of them.”
“I would expect no different. These men would rarely see such a beautiful and finely-dressed creature as you, and certainly not aboard a King’s ship. Come along,” he said to her, “Follow Lt. Ratshaw down the main companion there, into the bowels of our ship. There is no finer entrance.”
“Oh, it’s quite cool below, isn’t it?” Maria remarked.
“It is. I’m thankful we had a chilly night – for June. I think we have trapped some cool air below. We also rigged awnings the moment we anchored, and we’ve had the gunports left open for the breeze to flow through. You see the rope nettings across them to keep the ‘wharf rats’ out.”
“And little candles in the corners,” she noticed. “How elegant.”
“Hmm,” said Neville. “I’m afraid that’s more to repel the normal smells of the ship than for the light. We have enough light from the hatches and gunports, you see.”
Maria’s eyes were everywhere at once. “Everything’s so tidy and bright. Every bit is polished or painted and neatly stored or stacked or hung where it seemed to belong. It’s not what I expected of a ship full of…”
“Men, yes?”
“I’m afraid so. What’s this big room, then?” The length of the mess-deck was visible as she descended, providing another unfamiliar picture.
“This is where the men eat,” said Ratshaw, suddenly turning host. “The officers’ mess is back this way. We have it ready.” Due to the small size of the room, Neville needed to precede the others to reach his chair at the head of the table, which was farthest in with his back against the glossy trunk of the mizzenmast. Normally he would have sat immediately, thus giving permission to all others to do the same. Today, however, he waited for Lt. Ratshaw, who had the honor of attending Maria’s chair opposite Neville. After her, he sat. The rest crowded in quickly.
“We have quite a full room today, I’m afraid,” announced Ratshaw. We have Mr. Tilburne and Mr. Russell with us for the event, as well as that fellow at the end there.” He nodded toward Neville.
Neville gave introductions while seated. Maria had Lt. Ratshaw at one elbow and Second Sailing Master Greaves at the other, with Acting-Lt. Daweson and Mr. Tilburne the Boatswain next. Mr. Gooden the Purser and Mr. Russell the Gunner were sat at Neville’s end of the table. Each diner had his own servant, making for quite a crowd in the small room.
“Never did I expect such as this,” remarked Maria.
“We’ve had the boys do their best polishing on the pewter and silverware. We put them under Hajee’s supervision, if you don’t mind, Captain, and he shined the glasses himself. Sorry it’s not a complete set. We’ll blame the pirates for that,” said Mr. Tilburne.
“To the King,” proposed Ratshaw, [creating] the official beginning of dinner. The toast was drunk, and tureens of food arrived.
“We all know what this is now, ha, ha!” remarked Mr. Gooden, referring to the suckling pig with tropical fruit at the center.
“What do you think of this, gentlemen, Neville quietly remarked to Gooden and Russell? I think we’re at the wrong end of the table. You two can scarcely see her for the backs of Daweson and Tilburne.”
“She’s a lovely one, indeed,” said Mr. Russell, “and I’ll steal a glance whenever I can, I assure you; but since I have your ear, I cannot forsake this unusual opportunity to make my arguments for an increase in the ships’ weapons. Not the great guns of course, but muskets and…”
This nattering left Mr. Gooden quite in between, and all the talking became louder as more wine was consumed.
Though he listened as attentively as he could manage to Mr. Russell and tried as he might to engage Mr. Gooden, Neville’s attention was, understandably, at the opposite end of the table.
Fo
ur against one, thought Neville, and still she wins. All seems to be going well. Maria is obviously enjoying being in the center of it. Nay, she doesn’t enjoy it; she creates it. I am the luckiest man ever to be wounded.
She asked for the next story, she laughed, she feinted and parried; she radiated. But all good things end.
“Oh, my face hurts,” laughed Daweson, throwing his napkin on the table, “That’s enough for me!”
Ratshaw did the same, leaned back, and patted his belly.
“Excuse please; here’s cheese tray,” said one of the little black boys – who was no longer little, but a good five feet tall and faster at skylarking than anyone else aboard – “and I am to announce that there is port available.”
Ratshaw took his cue to propose a toast to the future Captain and Mrs. Burton. The noise began to subside, so Ratshaw added the gunroom’s thanks for attending their mess.
“One last toast,” suggested Neville: “To Experiment’s gunroom, and to her men.”
“Neville, how do you come to be in charge?” Maria asked in the carriage on the way home. “Other than that dreamy Lt. Ratshaw, they are every one older than you.”
“Dreamy? Lt. Ratshaw - dreamy? How could you think that? He’s just ….”
“Oohhh,” Maria interrupted with a horribly impish smile, “So you do get jealous. How charming.”
“Not jealous,” he retorted, tapping the end of her nose with his finger, “just… protective. And as to your question, I’m in charge because-”
Maria interrupted again, “Because you are the famous Neville Burton, suitor of Councilman Thomas Fuller’s daughter, that’s why. That’s good enough for me,” she added.
“It was wonderful, Neville, I must say. I have never been such a center of attention. Your officers were so gallant and the meal so wonderful, I will remember it for years to come.”
“We have an invitation for Vincent aboard the Comtesse, too, so there’s more to come.”
“Oh. It’s so soon. I’m not used to such goings-on.”
Thus began a rare time of ship visits by Neville and Maria intermixed with their personal business of the marriage preparations. After some deliberation, mostly concerning the proper length of time for a formal courtship, a date slightly more than one year hence was settled upon: August 26, 1692.
Captain Verley gave an invitation to Neville and Maria for four days after the event on Experiment.
On their arrival at the Comtesse du Provence four days later, they found the ship dressed to equal Experiment’s earlier show. The crew of the Comtesse’s launch was dressed in matching outfits of white cloth trousers, black-and-white-striped shirts, and tan palm-woven hats with red ribbons.
“All right, now,” said Verley, “We shall have aperitifs under the awning on the poop-deck before dinner.” The idea was a success. It employed the cool of the breeze under shade and combined the informality of a mingling party with the formality of navy ways.
“Oh, what now?” exclaimed Vincent shortly after his guests’ gathered on the poop. “It’s going to rain on my party?”
A light spritzing shower began. Maria laughed, “Oh, Captain Verley, surely you navy men have no fear of water,” and she swirled out into it from under the awning, lifting her face to the warm Jamaican drizzle. We ladies of Jamaica do not melt in the mist.” It was the perfect thing. The crowd followed. The rain intermingled the fresh smells of land and ocean, and the event moved along with no harm done.
From the Loyal Toast to the cheese tray, with turtle soup and a main course of fresh-caught fish and a side of chops, the dinner was a success equal to that aboard Experiment, and again it ended with the patting of full bellies and massaging of cheeks.
As Maria was being swayed out over the rail in the chair – an action she very much enjoyed – a boat from Wasp approached Comtesse. Neville followed Maria into the launch and bade the coxswain wait for Wasp’s boat, purely out of curiosity.
“For Captain Burton,” announced Wasp’s Coxswain when he was near enough. He held out an envelope, and when the two launches thumped gunwale to gunwale, the man passed it over.
“What’s this?” asked Neville.
“Invite to dinner in two days, Sir. Pleasure of an answer?”
Neville opened the envelope and quickly read the nicely-penned note. It gave the appearance of a woman’s writing.
Jamaican Merchant Ship Beagle
Port Royal Harbor
June 20, 1691
To: Captain Burton and Mr. Thomas and Miss Maria Fuller,
The Pleasure of Your Company is greatly requested for a Dinner in honour of your Betrothal, the ships Wasp and Beagle jointly providing.
Two days hence, Friday the 22nd, at two bells in the afternoon aboard Beagle.
With the Compliments of Wasp and Beagle,
Cpt. & Mrs. Miller, and Cpt. Jameson
PS. A reply at your earliest will be appreciated.
He passed the note to Maria, who also perused it, then looked up at Neville and smiled and nodded. To Wasp’s coxswain, Neville said, “Please tell your captain that we would be delighted. I believe I can speak for Mr. Fuller.”
Captain Verley had been leaning over the rail watching, and easily smoked the invitation, “You’ll have to watch your eating now or you’ll be plump as farmyard goose soon.”
“Shove off, coxswain,” said Neville. He waved good-bye.
“Why must there be a competition for dinner, Neville,” asked Maria.
“I don’t know for sure, but I think they all want to be in my good graces for their own protection. I am also quite sure that there are rumors about concerning some local beauty they would like to see – and our engagement has given them an excuse for entertaining. That doesn’t happen often with seafarers.
“As much as I enjoy the attention there are other tasks I must attend to in the three weeks remaining before departure.”
‘Tasks beyond Maria and Experiment’ included shipping his gold to Hoare’s Bank in London. Now would be the best - and probably last - opportunity he would have to pack it. He could accompany it personally past the pirate shores to Norfolk, and then find a ship there to transport it to England. He had received a response from Hoare’s. They had agreed to accept his shipment, create one of their new interest-bearing accounts in his name, and send him a receipt.
“How might I pack it, Colonel Fuller?” Neville asked.
“I think most importantly it needs to be disguised. If not, somewhere during its journey there will be a curious fellow, and such a shipment might present a temptation that even an honest man cannot resist. It must go in small boxes, so as not to be too heavy, and it could be labeled as logwood, tobacco, or even as wine in small casks.”
“I think not logwood, Sir. Logwood is heavy, yes, but it is quite valuable itself and might be stolen for what it is, if it were so labeled. Wine would take several casks, and should have a feel of the liquid when being carried. If there were no sloshing about, it might raise unneeded suspicion. I like your suggestion of tightly packed tobacco. It’s a reasonable shipment from Jamaica, since it is grown here on the plantation. It is quite desired by any jack tar who might see the label, certainly, but probably not valuable enough to risk the crime of pilferage. We could jam a small box of gold into the center of each small chest of packed tobacco. The chests would certainly smell like tobacco and carry the normal tobacco labeling. They would have a heft that would not arouse much suspicion, if any. It would not be expected to slosh like a liquid.”
“Yes, and we make our own tobacco chests here now. We can make the gold boxes, as well, and nobody else has to know anything of it.”
The gold shipment went aboard Experiment as one of the captain’s specialties a week before the convoy sailed. Neville personally chose a place low in the hold for the gold chests where it would not need to be moved the entire passage. Piled below ‘with the dead marine’, it would also not be accessible to any mischievous pilferer looking for a good meal from the
captain’s stores.
The day of Beagle’s party arrived. The ship’s launch crew was turned out well, but not quite as elegant as Comtesse’s. All wore white shirts and broad-brimmed straw hats. Beagle was dressed, but with fewer flags, since merchants have less reason to be signaling. The handlers of the bos’n’s chair were equally adept, and Maria floated to the deck with equal grace, this time in light blue from the silk flower in her hair and turquoise Spanish earrings to light blue slippers. Thomas was pleased to have been invited. He and Neville were quick up the Beagle’s side.
“Look, Neville,” said Maria before the launch arrived beside Beagle, “they have their awnings up in the middle as well as in back.”
“Aft, Maria, not ‘in back’. And the middle is called the ‘waist’.”
“Hrrumph. Well, we’ll have shade, and nobody will have to worry about rain. Do I hear music?”
“I thought so, but it has stopped. Beagle is not navy, so there might be. Please be careful not to make comments about the ship not being quite so tidy. These merchantmen do not have as many men to see to it all.”
Today, a makeshift band struck up a cheerful chanty the instant Maria’s slipper touched the deck. Captain and Mrs. Miller of Wasp were already aboard. When the band began to play, a plumpish, middle-aged woman suddenly burst up the companion stair holding her skirts high enough to run and charged across the deck to engulf Maria in a great bear hug.
“Oh, I’m sorry. That was a bit informal,” she said. She gave her husband a snide look and added, “He was supposed to call me when they saw you coming out. I’ve been below helping to make the most wonderful plum duff you’ll ever eat – my grandmother’s recipe.”
The witnesses to the event had a good laugh, and any stiff formality that might have existed between the captains, their officers and the Jamaican Councilman, Thomas Fuller, was thereby done in.
A Journal of The Experiment at Jamaica (The Neville Burton 'Worlds Apart' Series Book 2) Page 28