Young Dick
Page 5
CHAPTER FOUR
The fickle late spring winds caused endless delays in clearing the English Channel. The only positive outcome was that the crew learned the ways of Subtile and themselves. It took three weeks to clear landfalls and sail into more clement weather and seas. During this time Richard was confined below, learning how to become three assistants as well as his Captain’s cabin duties.
The Purser’s name was P. Williamson Esq. and was as demanding with his accounts as he was with his attire. His thin short frame may have been well suited for between the decks but he was fanatical about overdressing, as if this somehow made up for his ungainliness and ugliness. His eyes were set too close together over a hooked nose that somehow supported rimless glasses. He needed and chose to shave twice a day. Richard’s first duty of the watch was to dust the Purser’s chair, desk and ledgers. His second was to hang the Purser’s frocked coat correctly, taking care not to mark the white ruff collar. He would then be given errands to run such as checking stores, recounting endless items and compiling receipts. He was never allowed anywhere near the ship’s ledgers, let alone attempt accounting.
“Master Digby, do not go barefooted in my cabin, kindly wear stockings if you please. Master Digby, you have tar under your fingernails, manicure yourself please. Master Digby, you are maculate I can detect skin above and below your jacket, cover yourself young man.” Richard hoped his short apprenticeship with the doctor would be an improvement. It was, but only just.
Dr. Wilberforce was an overweight and over-qualified surgeon who was completing a steady but irreversible decline in fortune. He passionately believed in sterilizing both his instruments and intestines in alcohol, and inevitably this caused his hands to shake and his patients to shake their collective heads. Pale blue eyes above a raspberry nose assessed Richard when he presented himself to the doctor’s cabin and surgery. The surgery was large and protected within the bowels of the ship, Subtile was, after all, a warship.
“Well young Dick your duties here will be light, mixing the odd prescribed potion and attending to the usual run of sailor’s injuries and illnesses; only if we see any action will things become bloody. Now I want you to do an inventory of what citrus fruits we have aboard and arrange to squirrel them away here in the surgery; we have ample room. I am formulating plans to combat the dreaded scurvy and wish to keep them private so do not inform the cook or that pansy purser. One other thing: never work here unsupervised, do I make myself clear?”
“You do, Sir,” answered Richard. At the beginning of a voyage Dr. Wilberforce concentrated on the health of the officers and crew, reasoning that this would prevent problems later when temperatures, fluxes and tropical diseases would assail them. The crew was a mixed lot: those who had been brought up in the country and had gone to sea to obtain employment were healthier than the city dwellers that had fled squalor and the workhouses. The inadequate diet produced boils, rashes and the runs, but poultices, ointments and nutritional food combined with sea air and hard work soon brought redness to the cheeks and tone to the muscles. It mattered little that some of the protein came from weevils in the ship’s biscuits. The doctor rarely penned instructions; he seemed to have everything in his head so Richard made careful notes and referred often to the good doctor’s Latin dictionary. Richard soon tired of the routine and looked forward to his next duty: assisting the ship’s Gunnery Officer.
Robert John Whitefield’s love of ordnance and ballistics had caused him to neglect his studies in navigation and celestial bodies to the extent that his superiors had advised him he would never attain the rank of Lieutenant. Denied a naval career he had jumped at the chance to sign on Subtile as Gunnery Officer, a rank that did not exist on any other vessel. He proudly introduced Richard to his ‘babies’ as if he had given birth to them, unaware that Richard had assisted in procuring them from the arsenal.
“These four six pounders will be mounted mid-ships on the top deck to ensure trim and stability. They have a range and weight advantage over English four pounders but are still no match for the twelve pounders carried by our larger frigates.” Robert noticed the gleam in Richard’s eyes and realized he had found a fellow traveler. “And speaking of twelve pounders, this is our bow chaser and largest weapon: I have plans to mount it on the stern, seeing we will be more likely to outrun rather than chase anything. These four little beauties are swivel guns, better known as rail guns and are for very close or deck combat. I wish you to study these range charts tonight; in the morning, weather providing, we will install and hopefully test the guns. Now, about gunpowder – moisture is our enemy here.” Richard and the Gunnery Officer had to duck their heads to enter the compact powder magazine. “And for that purpose we have a layer of sawdust under the deck to absorb it. Note all metal fittings and utensils are of a non-ferrous metal, either brass or copper. One spark here and the ship is matchwood; now I wish you to study these weights and measures tonight; you will be dispensing the powder tomorrow should we obtain permission to test fire. Now, young sir, are there any questions?”
“No Sir,” were the only two words Richard spoke. He concealed his disappointment; he would have liked to see the guns in action, not confined to the magazine.
“Steady!” screamed the Bosun as the iron monster swung dangerously towards the ship’s rail. Sweating crewmembers struggled on a line to belay the cannon as it was lowered by a series of pulleys to the deck by a second crew. The weapon hit the deck with a resounding thud causing the Bosun’s invective to rise a new level. “You sons of whores and bitches, it is only a six pounder, not a twenty-four, do we have to disassemble it so that you pussies and ball-less wonders can have it easy? Period time is it?” The more experienced gun crew members quickly secured the gun with ropes and chains to the stanchions on either side of the gun ports, giving the hapless crews a brief respite. A wedge was hammered into the gap between the rear of the barrel and the carriage. “Now we will try it again on the starboard side, you bunch of bottom feeders; with a bit of luck it won’t fall overboard.”
Richard was glad he had the job of mounting the four swivel guns, one on each side of the quarterdeck and the same for the foredeck. He was well clear of any danger and had a gulls’ eye view. The weapon’s spike slid easily into the brass lined hole and was held fast. Richard took a look at the mountings for the bow chaser; they were more complex and hindered by deck hatches and rigging fastenings, so he decided to retire to the powder magazine. A short time later he heard yells, shouting, wood splintering and the thud of bare feet on holystoned decks. Further oaths, the groan of overloaded rope and a final crash then silence. The twelve pounder was at rest.
“You made something of a meal of that,” the Captain observed sarcastically. “Perhaps we should delay the test firing; we have had more than enough excitement for one day.” The Gunnery Officer looked crestfallen.
It was Richard’s idea to lash a pole to the raft of barrels and tie an old shirt on it. He had written ‘hit me’ on it, but this could not be read as the light wind ruffled both the sea and the makeshift flag. It seemed to take an age for the target to float away to a suitable range.
“This is what naval warfare is all about,” intoned the Gunnery Officer. “Hours of waiting, then minutes of pure hell. You may go below and prepare your charges young Dick; you can view some of the action when you deliver them to the guns.”
Richard had prepared the charges the previous day, meticulously measuring out the correct weights and sewing them into a light canvas bag. He carried a brass spike on a cord at his waist to nip the cloth before loading. ‘I am a right little nipper’ he joked to himself. He closed the magazine door and carried two charges top side; for safety’s sake only one round per gun would be delivered during practice, but in the event of real action more would be risked with other powder monkeys involved. By the time Richard arrived, two of the six pounders on the port side had been sweated back inboard to allow loading. Recoil would do that action after future firing.
“Load!” or
dered the Gunnery Officer and the barrels were sponged out. There was no glowing powder residue to remove, but the crew completed the action out of habit. The charge was then rammed home, followed by the solid shot taken from the brass monkey, a triangle that secured the small pyramid of balls. The lead gunner poured a finer grade of powder from his flask into the touchhole and blew on his sulfur-saturated match: “Fire as your guns bare.”
The gunners squinted along the barrel. Richard marveled at the skill and timing required to judge the rising or falling of the barrel and allowing for the delay of the touch-hole flash. The two guns erupted almost simultaneously and two fountains of water announced a wide miss. “Reload. Where are the next charges, young man? Look lively there.” Richard fled to the magazine.
After two hours of desultory gunfire the Captain called for a halt. A summary of the practice concluded that one of the leading gunners was well skilled in six pounders, having served four pounders previously in His Majesty’s Navy. He would be allowed time to train up others when they were not engaged in sailing duties. Richard pleaded with his Gunnery Officer to be included on the list. He was duly added.