The Return of Thomas Grey
Peter Argonis
The Return of Thomas Grey
A Thomas Grey Naval Adventure
Peter Argonis
© 2017, 2023
All Rights Reserved by the Author
Synopsis
Sixteen year-old Thomas Grey goes to sea in a small escort ship protecting merchantmen convoys during the Napoleonic Wars. An accomplished sailor, he rises quickly, and after a daring boat raid, is given his first ship. He becomes known as a reliable and daring captain, and as a champion fighting piracy and slavery. He must cope with the loss of his parents, but finds love with an unlikely bride.
Revised to match the prequel, Young Thomas Grey.
1. Mirabel
2. HM Sloop Wolverine
3. The Barbary Coast
4. Wedding Bells
5. Blockade Duty
6. Lightning
7. Local Hero
8. A Convenient Seizure
9. The Walcheren Campaign
10. Tempest
11. Convoys
12. Dido
13. On the Prowl
14. Florence
15. Gaining Riches
16. Bad News from Home
17. Problems and Solution
18. Bigots and Scoundrels
19. Unlikely Friends
20 - Cleaning Ship
21. Wake-up Call
22. Sardinia
23. The Barbary Coast Revisited
24. The Order of Saints Maurice and Lazarus
25. A Fruitless Effort
26. Ira Principis
27. Something Rotten in the Beylik of Algiers
28. Reunited
29. Lady Grey
30. Suspicion
31. Autumn Gale
32. A Spectre from the Past
33. HMS Clyde
34. No Rest for the Wicked
35. Chasing Jenny Girl
36. Paying Off
37. In Society
38. Business and pleasure
39. Monies
40 - Visitors
Acknowledgements
Cast of characters
Appendix 1: Sail plan of a full-rigged ship
Appendix 2: Ranks in the Royal Navy
Appendix 3: Administrative Structure of the Royal Navy ca. 1800
Appendix 4: Rated and unrated ships and vessels
Appendix 5: Watches and times
Appendix 6: Gun salutes
Appendix 7: Nautical terms
Appendix 8: The Articles of War of 1757
1. Mirabel
November 1805
The girl was skinny and looking down at her shoes timidly. Her dress was too small and not too clean and her shoes showed a lot of wear. She was standing there in the entrance hall with a solemn looking man who was wearing a black coat.
Thomas did not know what to make of the two strangers. He had been summoned from his room upstairs by his father who stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. His mother also stood and watched the scene.
“Father, you called for me?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. This is Mister Elias Wright. He is a barrister from London.”
“Your servant, Sir,” sixteen year-old Thomas said automatically, his academy schooling taking over.
“And yours, Master Grey,” the barrister said evenly.
“Perhaps now, that my family is in presence, you can explain the reasons of your visit?” Thomas’s father spoke.
“Indeed, Mister Grey, indeed. Madam, do you remember your late sister’s husband, Mister John Goodwin?”
“I certainly do, not that I am in any way fond of the memory. I still blame him for my poor sister’s death,” Margaret Grey said icily.
“My apologies then, Madam. Did you know that he married again?”
“I heard about it. Some girl he brought home from Jamaica or some other place.”
“Barbados, to be precise,” Mister Wright nodded. “The second Missus Goodwin gave birth to a girl who was baptised Mirabel Goodwin. Five weeks ago, on the evening of September 30, Mister Goodwin returned home from a tavern, having lost heavily at cards. Apparently, Missus Goodwin complained about his gambling habits, and in a fit of drunk rage, Mister Goodwin beat her to death with an iron poker.”
“The foul ruffian!” Thomas’s mother cried. “He claimed my sister fell down the stairs, but I never believed him!”
“Well, this time he could not claim that an accident had befallen his wife. The neighbours found him with the bloody poker in his hand. To make a long story short, he was arrested, tried for murder, convicted and hanged last week. As his barrister, it fell to me to identify living relatives for his only child, Mirabel. This is the reason for my visit.”
The Greys, realising the significance of the little girl, looked at her as one.
“Why, she’s part Negro!” Thomas’s father exclaimed.
Indeed she was, Thomas could now see. Her skin was not black, not like the Negro coachmen of the rich sugar planters he had seen in London. It was actually quite light, if a touch dusky. Her hair was of a dark brown and curly, and her prominent forehead and small nose confirmed her mixed ancestry.
“Yes, indeed,” Mister Wright confirmed. “For those concerned with these things, her mother was a quadroon.”
“You want us to take in that scoundrel’s offspring?” Thomas’s mother exclaimed.
“Madam, you’re the only relatives I could identify in my search. Mister Goodwin did not leave many worldly possessions, and what he owned was confiscated by the court. If I leave her at one of the orphanages, she’ll end up in those places that Mister Goodwin frequented. Perhaps you could find it in yourself to give her employment?”
“What do I care where that man’s daughter…” Thomas’s mother started, but something made her stop. Two fat tears had dropped onto the girl’s shoes as she stood there with her head bowed and her shoulders hunched.
She was not the only one to see it. Before he knew it, Thomas stood before the girl and offered his handkerchief. She did not see it, it seemed, but now his mother was kneeling at his side. She lifted the girl’s face and using Thomas’s handkerchief, dabbed her eyes.
“What’s your name, girl?” she asked in a much gentler tone.
“M-Mirabel, Madam,” came the almost whispered answer.
Then she raised her head and looked at Thomas and his mother. He knew his mother to be a good hearted woman and he could see her struggle with conflicting emotions. She looked at her husband for guidance.
Theodore Grey shrugged. “It’s not the girl’s fault who her parents were. She can help around the house if you want that.”
“Oh, dear! Mirabel, did you learn something? What did you do when you were still at home?”
“I… I went to school with the Widow Plimpton. I can read and write, and I know numbers too. I learned to stitch and to knit, and a little bit of cooking too.”
Thomas was astonished. As soon as he’d heard she was part Negro, he had assumed that she would be illiterate and lacking any advanced skills.
“How old are you, Mirabel,” his mother asked next.
“Almost twelve, Madam.”
Margaret Grey came to a decision. She stood and faced the barrister.
“Mister Wright, we can take the girl in. Has she any possessions worth keeping?”
“Only a small valise in the coach with a change of clothes and a nightgown. The rest, including her better clothes, went for sale to cover the expenses incurred during the trial.”
Theodore Grey shook his head. “Well, we can find something for her. Will there be any documents to sign?”
The barrister nodded his head. “If you were so kind as to sign this transfer document,” he produced a paper from his breast pocket, “then the Council will reimburse me for the travel.”
Theodore Grey carefully read the document before he went over to a small desk where he opened an inkwell and selected a quill. Then he signed the paper and waved it to let the signature dry.
“Here you are, Mister Wright. I believe that this concludes our business?”
“Yes, indeed. I thank you for the consideration you showed for this poor girl,” Mister Wright smiled. Without looking at his charge, he then bade his farewells. Thomas went to the coach with the man to retrieve the pitiful, small bag containing the girl’s possessions and saw the barrister off.
Returning to the house, his father looked at him.
“I’ll wager a guinea that this was a good business for the fellow. The Council is likely to give him a premium for getting rid of an orphan they’d otherwise would have to care for. Well, it would seem that we have a new household member.”
—————
For reasons only known to herself, Margaret Grey decided to employ Mirabel Goodwin as her personal maidservant. Over the next days and weeks, the Greys grew accustomed to the girl as she went about her tasks with great willingness and open gratitude to her mistress.
Thomas did not see very much of her. He had attended the Royal Naval Academy in Portsmouth, graduating in April, and had served on the Commander-in-Chief's staff after that. He was now waiting for the promised posting to a man o’war. His father had reached the rank of commander before he retired to his family possessions, and from age 11 to 13, Thomas had sailed on board his father’s ships, the sloop Cormorant of 16 guns and the post-ship Squirrel, 24. Over two years of sea going service, together with the two years of sea service credited for finishing the Academy, had made Thomas eligible for midshipman's rank, whilst other graduates of the academy, who were referred to as midshipmen ordinary, still needed two years of sea service to attain regular midshipman's rank.
He was also impatient to get an appointment, for the news of the victorious Battle of Trafalgar had galvanised him, and he wanted to be part of the glory soonest.
He frequently rode into the town, Guildford, where a fencing master was teaching youngsters the rudiments of sword play. Theodore Grey wanted his son to be prepared not only for possible ship board melees but also for the still frequent duels. Consequently, young Thomas was also schooled in marksmanship with the pistol.
His less pleasant tasks were to assist his father in keeping the books of the estate. The Greys owned 2,600 acres of which more than 1,000 were tillable. The woods on the property produced timber but also the firewood needed on the estate. Lastly, cattle and sheep could be raised where the plough would not work. Almost 30 tenants worked the lands and paid their lease to the Greys, yielding a substantial income for the family. Theodore Grey had no caretaker, but he administered the lands himself and was adamant that his son should learn this part of being a landowner too.
—————
Thomas's moderately busy life came to an end some three months after Mirabel Goodwin’s arrival, when the long-awaited letter finally arrived from the Admiralty in London, ordering Midshipman Thomas Grey to Portsmouth where he was to report for duty on board His Majesty’s sloop of war Wolverine, of 18 guns. A posting to a sloop of war! This meant only a small number of fellow midshipmen or master’s mates and certainly a better chance to distinguish himself than in one of the 74-gun behemoths. Those sloops were also kept busy and spent little time in harbour.
In a whirlwind, Thomas’s sea chest was packed. A farewell dinner was arranged for the same evening with a few friends who lived nearby, and the maids were in frantic activity to clean and press the last items of his uniform. Little Mirabel, as she was being called by then, participated with great eagerness, and when he thanked her for her efforts she blushed and curtsied.
“Master Grey, I wish you the best of fortune!” she said with a firm voice. “You were very kind to me when I arrived. I… I have this for you.”
With this she handed him a set of brand new handkerchiefs embroidered with his name and fled the room, leaving behind a confused young man. Nevertheless, he carefully packed all but one of the handkerchiefs into his sea chest.
In the next morning, Thomas Grey left home after a brief and early breakfast with his parents. He was dressed in his new midshipman’s uniform, a bicorne hat on his neatly queued blonde hair. In his coat he carried a stack of pound notes and a bank draft, and at his side he wore a midshipman’s dirk. One of Little Mirabel’s handkerchiefs graced his coat sleeve, and the girl, standing in the line of the servants, noticed and gave him a tearful smile.
Then he was off to Guildford in the family’s coach where he was to catch the post chaise from London to Portsmouth. He spent an hour in the Red Lion Inn until the post chaise arrived and then wedged himself into the already crowded coach. There were four naval officers traveling with him, one of them a junior captain, and Thomas was decidedly the youngest. He kept his mouth shut and contributed nothing to the sparse conversation between the more senior officers who in turn ignored him entirely.
By afternoon, the coach arrived in Portsmouth. Thomas was the last to alight from the coach and to retrieve his chest. A porter offered his service and Thomas retained the man directing him to the port admiral’s office. Having attended the academy in Portsmouth, he knew his way. In the port admiral’s office he inquired about the Wolverine and was given directions to where she was anchored in Spithead, the sheltered waters in lee of the Isle of Wight. He had to rent a four-oar jolly boat to reach his ship costing him a half sovereign, but at least he reached his ship before dusk and in the shortest possible time.
HMS Wolverine was a brig-sloop of war and armed with two six-pounder guns and 16 32-pounder carronades. She was of a modern design, newly built after the Peace of Amiens broke down, and she carried a complement of 120, including the Marines. She measured 100 ft with a 30 ft beam and a burthen of 380 tons.
Compared with the larger men o’war lying at anchor around her, she looked tiny to Thomas as they approached her under oars and his enthusiasm waned a little bit. They were hailed by the anchor watch, and Thomas was prepared. His voice change was behind him already and his answering hail of “Aye-aye” was strong. The boat hooked to the port side chains giving Thomas a brief moment to collect himself and check his appearance. Waiting for the boat to rise in the gentle swell of waves, he stepped on the third-lowest rung of the Jacob’s ladder, thus neatly avoiding soaked shoes, and quickly climbed up. There stood a young man, also a midshipman, looking at Thomas expectantly.
“Midshipman Thomas Grey, come aboard, Sir!” Thomas announced properly, raising his hat to the quarterdeck.
The young man raised his hat in response. “Welcome aboard, Mister Grey. Midshipman Carruthers, at your service.”
“Thank you, Sir. I was posted to Wolverine.”
“Yes.” Carruthers turned to a ship’s boy. “My compliments to the captain. Mister Grey has come aboard.”
The boy ran away, but returned only seconds later.
“The captain’s compl… compliments, and will you follow me, Sir!”
“Will you be so kind as to have my dunnage brought up from the jolly boat, Sir?” Thomas asked Carruthers who nodded.
“Certainly. Mister Wilson, see to it!” Carruthers rapped.
Following the ship’s boy, Thomas could see two men tend to his sea chest, but then he was facing the Marine sentry.
“Midshipman Grey, to see the Captain.”
“Mister Grey to see the Captain!” the sentry announced.
“Send him in!” came a voice from within, and the sentry opened the door for Thomas. He stepped into the tiny after cabin of the sloop, bowing his head to avoid the beams of the poop deck.
“Midshipman Thomas Grey reporting for duty, Sir!”
“Grey, eh? Midshipman ordinary?”
“No, Sir. I have over four years and nine months of sea service.” That was true, for completing the Academy was counted for two years added to the 33 months served in various ships and hulks, but also on the commander-in-chief's staff in Portsmouth.
“Indeed? Let me have a look at your papers then.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Thomas answered and handed over his log book and his appointment.
Commander Elias Benning studied the documents for a full five minutes.
“My apologies, Mister Grey. From the papers I received I had pegged you for one of those useless… Anyway, welcome aboard. You have — what? — almost five years already on the books. That’ll make you the second-rated midshipman after Mister Carruthers, who already passed his exams. Mister Prideaux and Mister Pons are junior to you. We’ve two master’s mates and Mister Carruthers going watches. You will join Mister Wainbridge’s watch. He’s the senior master’s mate. Mister Eckleson, the First Lieutenant, is on shore leave until next week, so Mister Wainbridge has to take over his tasks.
“Mister Grey, you must apply yourself from the start. You’re young, and your academy schooling kept you from gaining much-needed knowledge. Yet, I expect from you to behave like an experienced warrant officer. Think you can do that?”
“You’ll not find me wanting, Sir. I am aware of the poor reputation of midshipmen ordinary, but you’ll find me adequate for my duties.”
“Bravely spoken, young Mister Grey, but I’m not satisfied with adequacy. I expect excellence. Is that clear?”
Thomas had to swallow. “Yes, Sir.”
“Well, then, get settled in the gunroom. Your duty starts with the Middle Watch under Mister Wainbridge.”
“Aye-aye, Sir!”
Thomas left the cabin and found Carruthers on the quarter deck.
“I’ll be junior to you, but senior to Prideaux and Pons, Sir. Will I find Mister Wainbridge in the gunroom?”
Carruthers looked surprised. “How come?”
“I’ had over two years of sea-going experience as a 1st class volunteer from before the academy,” Thomas explained and Carruther smiled.
“Well, that’s good. Prideaux and Pons are still boys with less than two years service. Mister Wainbridge should be in the gunroom. Can you find your way?”
Thomas nodded. “It must be midships on the orlop deck, right?”
Carruthers smiled and nodded. “Your dunnage is already down there.”
His new home was a small room adjacent to the sick bay, 12 ft long and 8 ft across, where two master’s mates and four midshipmen had to sling their hammocks, eat and live. Wolverine being a new ship, the room was not as bad as some gun rooms in older ships, but modest enough. Three men were sitting at a tiny table swinging from the beams above.
“Good evening, Gentlemen,” Thomas greeted them. “Thomas Grey, midshipman, at your service.”
The oldest of the men looked him over briefly before he spoke.
“Alexander Wainbridge, master’s mate. I’m the senior. What’s your service?”
“I’m rated at four years, Sir.”
Wainbridge whistled softly and nodded at the younger men, boys really.
“James Prideaux, Sir. Midshipman,” the older announced.
“William Pons, Sir. Midshipman,” the youngest added in a squeaky voice.
“Speak up properly next time, Mister Pons!” Thomas rapped back, aiming to establish himself. He had been class provost in the academy, and he was used to exerting what little authority he had.
Wainbridge nodded. “You’ll be on my watch?”
“Yes, Sir. Middle Watch?”
“Yes, and damn it to hell!” Wainbridge laughed. “What’d you sail before?”
“A ship-rigged sloop, the Cormorant, Sir.”
“Good to know. Let’s go and show you the ship whilst there’s still light,” Wainbridge said, rising from the table. “You young gentlemen complete your calculations!”
A small chorus of “aye-ayes” answered this, and the two men walked along the passage way and for’rard. Wainbridge showed Thomas the fo’c’sle with the crew quarters, and then the gun deck. All this looked familiar enough to Thomas, and he tried to memorise the location of the running gear and other important items. Aft on the gun deck was the wardroom, housing the First Lieutenant, the Sailing Master Mister Pryce, the purser Mister Williams and the surgeon Mister Poole. Wainbridge knocked and asked for admission. A steward opened the door, and Thomas was introduced to the wardroom members as were present. Wainbridge then led him down to the orlop deck again where he met the senior warrant officers, boatswain, gunner, sailmaker and master-at-arms. Then up again and to the quarter deck where he grinned at Thomas.
“Next, get familiar with the rigging,” he said, pointing to the shrouds.
Thomas had expected that, and he threw himself at the shrouds and started the climb up the ratlines. Reaching the main top, he hung backwards for a moment, but quickly caught his footing on the ratlines of the top shrouds, continuing his climb to the mast head. From there, he climbed back down until he reached the main top stay which he used to reach the foretop. A minute later the saw him in the fore mast head. Catching his breath he looked around briefly before starting his descent to the forecastle.
Wainbridge was waiting for him. “Not bad. How’d’ye like the Wolverine?”
“Damn good ship, Sir,” Thomas panted, as was expected and proper.
“Damn right! Now, when we’re in the gunroom or by ourselves, call me Alexander and I’ll call you Thomas. When we’re on watch, you call me ’Sir’. Understood?”
Thomas looked around first. “Understood, Alexander.”
—————
Being roused just before midnight after less than two hours of sleep was harsh, but Thomas forced himself awake. The wind must have picked up a bit, for the Wolverine was jerking at her anchor cable in the small waves. Thomas was lucky insofar as he had never suffered from seasickness, but his sea legs were wanting, making him stumble a bit on his way up to the quarter deck.
It was pitch dark, with only a faint light coming from the compass housing. Wainbridge was behind him, and they approached the watch officer, the second master’s mate, Mister Warner. They waited until Midshipman Pons rang the bell eight times, then Warner reported.
“Eight bells. Ship is at anchor, wind from the West, slightly veering, nothing to report.”
“Thank you, Mister Warner. You are relieved. Please meet Mister Grey, our new Midshipman.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” Thomas added.
“And you, Mister Grey. I s’pose we’ll get acquainted soon,” Warner answered, already heading for the companion way. Wainbridge chuckled in the dark.
“Warner’s had shore leave. Must be tired. All right, Mister Grey. What do you do first?”
“Check the compass, then the current orders, Sir. Then I’ll muster the men.”
“Very good, Mister Grey. Do that.”
Thomas looked at the compass and the reading confirmed the wind direction. Wolverine was pointing due West, riding her anchor. The blackboard with the orders for the night was empty, as no course had to be steered. Then Thomas assembled the watch in the waist and counted heads. With the result he rejoined Wainbridge on the quarter deck and reported.
Over the next four hours, Wainbridge talked to Thomas, giving him pointers, asking him questions, and gauging his knowledge. In between, Thomas made rounds through the ship, recorded the wind direction, and kept time with the half-hour glass. Being busy helped pass the time until the start of the Morning Watch, and Thomas had another three hours of sleep.
For ten more days, HM sloop Wolverine lay at anchor in Spithead, giving Thomas ample opportunity to learn his duties and his stations. Four times they performed gun drills, even firing the guns once, and Captain Benning saw to it that the junior officers had to take over the batteries to simulate losses amongst the officers. This was something that Thomas knew well from the academy, and he acquitted himself honourably. What became clear was that his fellow midshipmen Prideaux and Pons were not ready for any leadership tasks. Prideaux was simply stupid with a memory like a sieve. Pons was able, but too shy to exert his authority. His squeaky voice was not helpful, but at least he tried hard.
Then the First Lieutenant, Mister Eckleson returned from his leave, and a day later the Wolverine weighed anchor. Thomas had a chance to send a letter to his parents on the day before, telling them of his experiences so far and praising the ship and his senior officers, but when the sails were unfurled and the ship laid over in the breeze, he had to swallow a few times. He was going to war.
—————
2. HM Sloop Wolverine
April 1806
HMS Wolverine was holding her position to windward of a small convoy of eight sail sailing from Kingston to London. On her quarter deck, a very nervous watch officer was constantly checking her course, the wind, the trim of the sails and the horizon beyond the convoy. Mister Midshipman Thomas Grey was entrusted with the watch for the first time, and a more conscientious watch officer would not be found in the entire Royal Navy.
On the outward journey to Kingston, Wolverine had escorted four Navy transports with soldiers for Jamaica and six merchantmen, and she had proven to be an exceptional sailing ship. Due to her narrow beam and her sharp forms, she was lively in rough weather, but she showed a very good turn of speed under all but the roughest conditions.
Mister Wainbridge had given Thomas many opportunities to command sail manoeuvres under his supervision, and whilst Thomas had made a few errors, none of them had been in any way dangerous to the ship or her crew. Towards the end of the journey, those errors ceased completely, and so four days into the return voyage, Captain Benning had appointed Thomas as additional watch officer. This Forenoon Watch was his first, and although his fellow officers, including the captain and first lieutenant, were conspicuously avoiding the deck, he was nevertheless certain that his performance was watched closely.
The first three hours of bearing the responsibility were uneventful, yet entirely nerve-wrecking for the sixteen year-old on his second journey. Then, towards the last hour, Thomas could not help but notice that Wolverine was slowly overreaching and moving ahead from the position exactly to windward of the centre ship of the convoy. He had to clear his throat before he addressed the runner.
“My compliments to the captain, and I wish to shorten sail.”
The runner disappeared aft and two minutes later, Captain Benning appeared, obviously coming from his lunch table. Thomas cringed for a moment, but the Captain merely nodded after a quick look around.
“One reef in the main tops’l, Mister Grey,” he ordered, leaving Thomas alone again.
“Mister Morton, a reef in the main tops’l,” he passed the order to the boatswain’s mate of the watch. A few moments later, ten topmen climbed up the ratlines to reef the huge topsail. For the rest of the watch, Thomas took repeated bearings of the convoy to ascertain that their speed was now matching that of the merchantmen.
Thus, his watch ended without mishaps of any kind, and he gave a concise report to his relief, Mister Carruthers. Not surprisingly, Thomas had to report to Mister Eckleson afterwards. The first lieutenant was a grey haired man of 42, with thirty years of sea-going experience and possessed of a quiet temper. His cabin was a mere stall off the wardroom, with a cot, a desk and a single stool on which he sat. He looked up when Thomas reported and gave him a smile.
“Relieved, Mister Grey?” he asked, enjoying the double meaning.
“Yes, Sir,” Thomas exhaled.
“Well, the next time will be easier. You did well, and the Captain was pleased.”
“Thank you, Sir. I was worried when…”
“…you called the captain? No, that was necessary. And even if he’d disagreed with the reef, he’d not hold it against you. You’ll stand another morning watch tomorrow, and then another few daylight watches before we’ll assign you to the Middle Watch. We’ll make a watch officer out of you by the end of the voyage.”
“Aye-aye, Sir!” was all Thomas could think of.
Of course, with John Carruthers having passed the lieutenant’s exam, it was only a matter of time before he would be appointed as a lieutenant. Then Thomas would have to stand watches on a regular basis. Being a watch officer had its perks too, such as not having to do the rounds or to rouse the hands during all hands manoeuvres. In a larger ship, he would be years away from being a watch officer. Also, being watch officer in a bigger ship would be frightening in the first place. Therefore, Thomas was very happy with his posting.
The gunroom steward, a skinny chap named Pillard, had lunch ready when Thomas joined his mess mates. Wainbridge grinned and raised his coffee cup.
“Gentlemen, to the youngest watch officer!”
Thomas blushed a little, but his mess mates cheered him and he had to smile.
“Pillard, I need you to wash my shirt and my breeches,” he ordered with mock embarrassment, making the gunroom explode in laughter.
The meal was shared in excellent humour, with even Pons thawing a little bit. Mister Warner held back as usual, but that was how the man was Thomas had learned. He was helpful enough when needed, but not forthcoming at all. By now, Thomas knew his gunroom mates well enough and he was accepted in turn. Sometimes they still teased him about his academy schooling, but that was all in good humour and he gave back as well. Life was good he decided.
True to Mister Eckleson’s promise, Thomas had been assigned all watches by the time they approached the English Channel. Going the Middle Watch was still unnerving to him, but he slowly grew accustomed to that, too. The summer had turned into autumn by now and the winds at night were cold, tempting the men of the watch to seek shelter and the lookouts in the mast tops to huddle low. Wainbridge had taught Thomas how to keep them awake, and he had them relieved every two bells.
On this particular Middle Watch, the wind was packing a cold drizzle, and conditions up in the mast head were miserable. At least, there was a moon behind the clouds, giving a bit of visibility. At 4 bells, Thomas sent up the relief lookouts. The new man in the foremast, Grimm, was still rated as a landsman, but he showed promise. It was Grimm who urgently hailed from the foremast, not a minute after climbing up.
“Sail ho! Two points west of the convoy an’ mebbe four miles beyond. Looks like a ship!”
“Rouse the captain, Mister Prideaux!” Thomas snapped, already running for the foremast shrouds. A minute later saw him in the crow’s nest trying to train the telescope on the distant sail that Grimm pointed out to him.
“What do you make of her?” hailed the captain from the deck below.
Thomas looked very carefully. He thought that he could make out three masts and certainly a ship rigging. It looked a little too small for a big ship, a frigate or even a ship of the line. It could be a ship-rigged sloop.
“It looks like a ship-rigged sloop to me, Sir!” he hailed down.
“Very well, Mister Grey! Come back down!”
In his haste to return to the deck, Thomas almost missed a ratline and he checked himself. Easy! More carefully, he climbed back down to the deck. He found Captain Benning on the quarter deck and saluted.
“Rouse the free watch, Mister Grey. Have the reefs taken out and the t’gallants set!” Captain Benning ordered. “Quartermaster, three points to starboard! Man the braces!”
Wolverine turned before the wind, racing towards the convoy under the added press of sails.
“Mister Grey, have the six pounder fire!”
Thomas sent Prideaux to collect the gun crew for the starboard bow chaser. A powder charge had to be brought up from the magazine, the gun had to be cleared and the port opened. It took three minutes before the gun was ready, but then the discharge alerted the ships of the convoy.
Meanwhile, Wolverine was about to break through the line of merchantmen. Mister Eckleson appeared on the quarterdeck, a bit out of breath.
“Mister Grey was right, Sir. It’s a ship-rigged sloop, or p’raps one of those French corvettes. Looks a touch French to me, Sir.”
Captain Benning nodded. “Very well, Mister Eckleson. Clear the ship for action!”
Wolverine’s crew had gone through untold drills in the past months, some of them done in the middle of the night, and they were prepared. In eleven frantic minutes, Wolverine transformed from a home for 120 men into a fighting ship. Bulkheads were torn down, the cabins cleared, the bundled hammocks stuffed into nettings as simple breastworks against flying splinters, the deck strewn with sand, water buckets filled and placed on the deck, and the guns cleared.
Captain Benning watched from the quarter deck, but Mister Eckleson was everywhere, directing the crew and cursing laggards. Thomas did what he could to bring order into the chaos. His station was on the gun deck as second in command under Carruthers, and he carefully inspected every gun and its equipment before Carruthers reported them to be ready.
By now, the foreign sail could be seen from the deck, a dark form before the dimly lit sky, and approaching on a convergent course.
“Mister Eckleson, have the night recognition signal hoisted!” Benning ordered.
Three red lanterns were produced by the boatswain and lit, and three topmen brought them up to the fore topsail yard. The lamp shades were opened, but the other ship did not show any recognition.
“Mister Carruthers, a shot over the bows!” Benning ordered.
A minute later, the six-pounder barked, and a few moments later the foreign ship turned into the wind with wildly flapping sails. It took another five minutes, but then the correct pattern of blue lanterns showed, the British night recognition answering signal.
Carruthers slapped his thighs whilst almost laughing his head off.
“Oh, dear! Oh, damn! Thomas, you know what that was? They didn’t sight us until our bow chaser scared them awake! Oh, damn! I bet there’s a free wardroom berth on that sloop come the morning!”
Thomas released the breath he had kept holding. They had avoided a night battle by a hair’s breadth.
Meanwhile, Wolverine was closing in on the vessel.
“Ship ho! What ship?” Mister Eckleson’s stentorian voice boomed through the speaking trumpet.
“His Majesty’s Sloop Fortune, Captain Mayhew. What ship?”
“His Majesty’s Sloop Wolverine, Captain Benning! Why'd you ignore our signals?”
“Inattention on the part of the watch officer!” came the reply. Even distorted by the speaking trumpet and the noise of wind and sea, Thomas could hear the mortal embarrassment in the answer.
“Told you,” Carruthers laughed. “Ouch!”
“Very well, have a safe journey! You have a convoy of six sail ahead, Sir!” Mister Eckleson hailed.
“Thank you, Sir!”
“Mister Eckleson, have the guns run in and the bulkheads raised again,” Benning ordered. “Mister Grey, return the ship to windward of the convoy.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” both officers replied.
“And Mister Grey?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Well done.”
“Thank you, Sir. Landsman Grimm spotted the sail, Sir, and it wasn’t easy to make out.”
“Seaman Grimm will receive a Sovereign as reward tomorrow,” Benning answered calmly. “Now let us return to our position.”
—————
Ten days later, the convoy was sailing upriver towards London. Wolverine accompanied them since she carried the mail from Kingston. Thomas had been to London before, but this was his first time reaching it by ship. They anchored in the Pool of London, a little downstream from the Tower of London, and Captain Benning announced that leave would be granted to all officers, warrant officers, mates and volunteers.
Travelling all the way to Guildford and back was not feasible for Thomas. He wrote and posted a letter to his parents telling them of the safe conclusion of their first voyage, but also of his own advancement to watch officer. He thanked his father for the tutoring he had received and his mother for her love and care. He also added a small aside, thanking Little Mirabel for the handkerchiefs which were giving him good service.
With this out of the way, he and the other junior officers were planning mischief. The Port of London was huge, and behind the waterfront lay a myriad of temptations. Wainbridge, Carruthers and Thomas were granted three days of leave at the same time, and together they set out on a tour of debauchery. Thomas, still aged 16, had enjoyed the charms of the ladies at the Sea Rover club in Portsmouth for almost two years, but he had gone without female company for over six months, but when they returned three days and nights later, he had sampled what vices London had to offer. What meagre pay he had received for 5 months of service was gone, and even a part of the funds from his father had been spent. Not that he had over imbibed in ales or spirits. Those he had consumed in moderation. Yet his enjoyment of carnal desires and their satisfaction had made his funds melt like butter in the sun. His companions in vice felt equally drained, and for days the gunroom was filled with exaggerated stories of their exploits.
The second wave of warrant officers released upon London fared worse. Whilst Mister Warner had obviously focussed his attention on drink and returned only slightly the worse for wear, Prideaux and Pons reported back only a day later, with bumps on their heads and having fallen amongst the wolves. In the first establishment they had entered, both were lured upstairs and then bashed over their heads and relieved of all their valuables. Both were in the sick bay for three days before their headaches abated.
The gunroom was of a mind to pay a visit to the establishment where Prideaux and Pons had been robbed, but Captain Benning wisely refused to give them more leave. However, he had to let go John Carruthers who received a lieutenant’s commission and a posting to a frigate. In return, a new midshipman, Mister Peter Boyd, who had two years seniority in rank, was assigned to Wolverine.
After a few more days of victualling the ship, Wolverine sailed for Sheerness where a convoy bound for Antigua was assembling. They waited for a week for the last stragglers before they put to sea for their next voyage.
—————
Over the next 11 months, HMS Wolverine made three more voyages to the British Caribbean possessions and back, always escorting transports or merchantmen. It was the usual fate for a brig sloop in the Royal Navy, and they never met an enemy.
Other ships and officers were fighting the French and Spanish, winning battles and honours, whilst they were chaperoning merchantmen on their way instead of fighting the French. Yet, as Captain Benning always told them, they contributed to the war effort by ensuring that the vital trade with overseas possessions remained uninterrupted. The wealth coming in from overseas was the foundation for Britain’s ability to continue the fight. Bringing in a convoy of eight sail laden with trade goods did more for the country than capturing a French brig of war.
This was certainly true, but the officers were chafing under their inability to capture enemy shipping whilst escorting convoys. Only the capture of an enemy ship could win the prize moneys of which they all dreamt. This was not such a pressing matter for Thomas whose family were landowners, but other officers were living off their pay.
Of course, such issues were irrelevant for the Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty who needed the brig sloops to guard the convoys, thus freeing up the precious frigates for other duties, such as cruiser warfare. They even built more of the brig sloops to meet the demand. Wolverine and the other sloops of her class were condemned to sail back and forth between the homeland and the colonies.
After the latest return voyage, this time to Bristol, there was no convoy bound for the Caribbean to escort, since the Hurricane season was close and the merchantmen were waiting it out in British ports. Instead, Wolverine was ordered to join a convoy to Gibraltar. To be sure, this convoy was sailing under the escort of two ships of the line that were headed for the Mediterranean, but their lordships knew that ponderous two-deckers were a poor protection against the fast and handy corsairs out of Saint Malo.
One of the ships under their protection shipped the new governor, Sir Hew Dalrymple, and this led to a lively to and fro between the battle ships and the convoy. Of course, the visits and invitations did not include Commander Benning, let alone his officers, and Wolverine spent many a lusty hour hove to and waiting for the convoy to continue its journey.
At least after their arrival at Gibraltar, Commander Benning was invited to a reception at the Governor’s Residence, together with “two officers of his staff”. Since both Mr Wainbridge and Mister Warner had started before the mast and were not officer candidates, Benning took along Lieutenant Eckleson and Midshipman Grey. They had but a day to have their uniforms cleaned and pressed, and to receive stern warnings against misbehaviour at the Governor’s Residence.
At the beginning of the Second Dogwatch, Benning, Eckleson and Thomas took the captain’s gig to the shore and walked the short distance to the Governor’s Residence. They had to wait for some higher ranking guests to enter before they were allowed in. Captain Benning, as a commander, was seated somewhere in the centre of the long table whilst Eckleson as the senior lieutenant present was placed three places further down.
Thomas found himself seated at the very end of the table. He was the last to be served the various courses of the dinner and the last whose plate was cleared. Yet, when the toasts were offered, he had to toast the King, being the most junior officer at the table. He then stood, waited for the table to fall silent, raised his glass and spoke the prescribed three words.
“Gentlemen, the King!”
Then he sat down again and waited for the evening to end. Yet, after a short while, the air in the room became quite stuffy. He saw several guests leave the hall for what appeared to be a garden, and he decided to explore. Walking through the doors, he found himself in the Convent Garden, and he decided to explore. Several gentlemen and some ladies were strolling in the garden and enjoying the fresh air. There were some benches too, and Thomas decided to sit and enjoy the balmy air. He had been sitting for a while, when a captain of the Army and his lady approached. They were obviously looking for a place to sit in privacy, so Thomas rose from the stone bench and bowed to them.
“Oh, we did not mean to drive you away, Lieutenant,” the lady said. Thomas noticed that she was decidedly older than her partner, yet undeniably attractive.
“Midshipman Grey, at your service, Madam. Since you made no request, you did not drive me away. I could see that you were looking for privacy, and I have been sitting here for a while. It is time for me to return to the hall lest my captain leaves me behind.”
The lady smiled at Thomas.
“Thank you, Mister Grey. My son and I indeed need to discuss things. Thank you for your politeness!”
“My pleasure, Madam, Sir,” Thomas answered, returning to the dining hall. He found Mister Eckleson in an animated discussion with a gentleman whilst Captain Benning had secured the company of a young lady. He bowed to the First Lieutenant and pointed to himself and to the garden entrance. Eckleson nodded and returned to his conversation.
Leaving the hall, he almost collided with the Army captain whose face showed a big smile. The discussion with his mother must have gone well, Thomas mused. Stepping out into the garden again, he saw that the lady was still sitting on the bench. She saw him too and motioned for him to come over.
“I forgot to introduce myself, Mister Grey, which was admittedly uncouth on my part. I am Angela Pelham.”
“Enchanted, Madam. Your son must have been happy with the discussion you had.”
“Oh, yes,” she giggled. “I gave him permission to woe a certain young lady. And you, young Mister Grey? Have you a bride yet?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m not yet eighteen years old, Madam, and not even a commissioned officer.”
“Oh, dear! How long have you been in the Navy then?”
“Almost seven years, Madam.”
Missus Pelham shook her head in dismay. “That must have been frightful, to be away from home at such a young age.”
Thomas smiled. “It was not too bad. I was sailing in my father’s ship and rated as his servant. It was what I wanted, Madam.”
“You young men! Are you still sailing with your father?”
“No, Madam. My father retired five years ago when my grandfather passed away. I attended the Naval Academy for three years before I was posted to the Wolverine sloop last year. We escorted Sir Hew’s ship to Gibraltar.”
“You are an extraordinary young man, Mister Grey. Will you be staying longer in Gibraltar?”
“I have no way to know this, Madam. Captain Benning probably knows, and he’ll tell us to weigh anchor when it’s time to sail.”
“The reason for my question… Can I rely on your discretion, Mister Grey?”
“Certainly, Madam.”
“You see, I am a widow. For my son’s sake, I am staying in Gibraltar, but he spends most of his time with his regiment. That leaves me quite alone, and I cannot risk any… well, affairs with one of the local gentlemen. Things might just become public and that would be devastating for my son’s career.”
“Yes, Madam?”
“You, on the other hand, are ideal, my dear young Mister Grey. Forgive me for saying this, but nobody is noticing you, and you will leave soon anyway. I may also add that I find you very endearing.”
“Madam, are you suggesting…” Thomas felt his face heating. “I have no leave.”
“Tsk, tsk! The real question is, do you find me appealing?”
“Oh, yes, Madam!” Thomas blurted.
“See? With this clarified, we can plan our next steps. Where is your captain?”
“In the dinner hall, Madam.”
“Let us ask him then!”
Brooking no resistance, Missus Pelham headed for the banquet hall and Thomas had to follow. A part of the guests must have left as Thomas noticed, and he could not see Captain Benning. However, Mister Eckleson was still there and he waved Thomas over.
“The captain is spending the night on shore. He already sent the gig back with the message. We can meet him at the quay at 8 bells in the Morning Watch or find our own way back to the ship. Anyway, we have a night’s pass, and I intend to use it.”
“E-eight bells, Sir?”
“Yes. Be on time, d’ye hear? I’ll spend the night at Madam Duvier’s. What about you?”
“I… I’ll be with a friend. He’s with the Army here. Captain Pelham. I met him by chance outside.”
“Well, enjoy the leave, Grey!”
“You too, Sir,” Thomas answered.
Missus Pelham had been standing close enough to listen in. She nodded towards the exit and went ahead. Thomas waited only for a few seconds before he followed. Outside the Residence, or the Convent as it was known, he looked up and down the street until he spotted Missus Pelham some hundred yards down the street. He followed her quickly. Hearing his steps, she turned and smiled.
“Ah, Mister Grey! My son must have gone home already. Will you be so kind as to escort me to my house?”
Thomas could not suppress the silly grin anymore. “It will be my pleasure, Madam.”
“So it will, Mister Grey!”
—————
None of the three officers who met at the quay at a little before 8 o’clock in the next morning had had a wink of sleep it seemed. Captain Benning was hollow-eyed and sported a dark stubble, Mister Eckleson winced whenever the sun hit his eyes, and Thomas felt quite like a combination of his two superiors. Captain Benning barked a short laugh.
“Well, that reception had its merits. Did you find a place to sleep?”
“Some Sir,” Eckleson croaked.
“Mister Grey? You look the worst of us, and that is quite the achievement.”
“I… I found a place Sir, but no sleep.”
“That lovely lady with whom you sat in the garden?” Benning asked with a grin.
Thomas blushed in spite of his wretched state. He had not know that the Captain had seen him with Missus Pelham. “Umh, Sir, I promised to be discreet.”
“And I shall pry no more. Where’s that blasted gig now?”
All around the harbour, the ships’ bells sounded 8 times now, and Thomas could see the Wolverine’s gig leaving the port side. It took the gig only two minutes to reach the quay and another three to return to the ship. Thomas stumbled down the companion way and to midships. He barely found the time to take off his coat and his shoes and loosen his cravat before he climbed into his hammock, dead to the world in a matter of seconds.
It seemed like only a few minutes later when Pillard shook him.
“Sir, Sir, please wake up! The Cap’n wants to see you!”
“Woa… what?” Thomas slurred.
“The Cap’n, Sir! Quick!”
Thomas rolled from the hammock.
“Water!” he croaked, but Pillard held a cup of coffee for him, sweetened and cooled down just enough. Thomas gulped it down.
“My coat!” was his next demand whilst Pillar was already fastening his cravat.
Not two minutes after being roused, Thomas announced himself to the sentry and was shown in.
“Bloody hell, Grey! You look even worse than this morning,” Captain Benning laughed.
“I am most sorry, Sir. I thought it best to come immediately.”
Benning pointed his finger at Thomas.
“And that, young man, is why I have great hopes for you. I was just informed that this evening at two bells on the First Dogwatch, an examination board will assemble in the Agamemnon. Captains Drury, MacSwain and Cartwright will preside. You have four hours to look human again and get prepared.”
“A- aye-aye, Sir,” was all Thomas could answer. This would be a disaster. In his present state he would be hard pressed to recall his name.
“Well, ready yourself, Mister Grey!”
Returning to the gunroom, Thomas’s brain began to function again. One thing was clear — there was no way for him to review his textbooks. He’d just have to appear unprepared and accept the additional six months of service they would hand down to him.
Over the next three hours, Thomas’s uniform coat and bicorne hat were brushed clean, his cravat was freshly pressed, and his second best breeches were laid out by Pillard. His better shoes received a polishing until they rivalled the starry night sky.
In the meantime, Thomas cleaned himself by jumping into the cool water of the bay. He had learned how to swim at a young age and was comfortable. He even dove under the cool waves a few times. Up on deck, a sponge and a half gallon of fresh water had to suffice for washing the salt out of his hair and off his skin.
The frantic activity effectively blocked any thoughts of the examination and possible questions, and rather than trying to read up anything, Thomas decided to have a hearty meal instead. Mister Williams, the purser, had procured fresh eggs, and Pillard produced an omelette fit for a king. The skinny boy had a good hand for food and had been an immeasurable help that afternoon, so before Thomas left for the Agamemnon, he gave the surprised steward a half crown.
“Thank you, Sir! Good luck, Sir!” the young man gushed, but Thomas was already heading for the port and the jolly boat.
The rest of the gunroom cheered him as they cast off, and Thomas lifted his hat.
“Morituri te salutant!” he shouted back to the laughter of his fellow officers.
He was only the second candidate to arrive at the Agamemnon, a famous line of battle ship even though she was only rated at 64 guns. Her captain was one of the examiners and he hosted the affair in his own after cabin. There were benches on the quarter deck for the candidates to sit whilst they waited their turn.
The young man who had arrived before Thomas was silently reciting some facts with his torso moving back and forth, and Thomas found that quite amusing in his still unbalanced mind. The night before spent in the arms of the lovely Missus Pelham was still occupying part of his short term memory, making him smile blissfully from time to time. Better that than becoming a nervous wreck he decided.
One by one, other candidates arrived and joined them on the benches. There were twelve of them when the boatswain’s pipes began to whistle and a captain came aboard. They all rose as he walked past them and he stood for a moment to muster them. He shook his head sadly before entering the captain’s cabin.
The next captain — Thomas knew neither of them — arrived only shortly after, just as the ship’s bell sounded twice, and he walked aft without ado to disappear in the cabin. They had hardly sat down again when the sentry at the door called.
“Will the first of the young gentlemen enter?”
Thomas nudged the young man who had arrived before him, who looked at him in terror. “N-no! N-not yet! I’m not ready!”
“Are you certain?” Thomas asked.
A frantic nod was the answer and Thomas rose. At least he would be done shortly.
Entering the cabin, Thomas took a brief look around. Captain Drury lived comfortably. Then he focussed with an effort.
“Midshipman Thomas Grey, Sirs! Reporting for examination!”
“Present your papers, Mister Grey!” the captain sitting in the middle demanded, and Thomas handed over his logbook and other documents.
The captain on the right threw a length of rope at Thomas who caught it barely.
“An eye splice, Sir!” the captain ordered.
That was easy, Thomas thought, picking up a marlin spike and a fid. He finished the splice in a mere two minutes and handed it over for inspection.
“Mister Grey, your ship… er, sloop is lying at anchor in a sheltered bay going West to East. Wind is due West. Your captain and the senior officers are on shore meeting with local authorities. Suddenly, your masthead sights a French sloop heading for the entrance of the bay. What do you do?”
Thomas thought quickly. “How far away from the shore am I anchored, Sir?”
“Four cable lengths, Mister Grey.”
Thomas gathered his wits. “I’ll have all hands clear the ship for action. Next, I’ll have a spring cable fixed to the anchor cable. I’ll also fire a signal gun to alert the captain. Then I’ll use the spring cable to bring the broadside to bear on the entrance of the bay. I’ll have axes ready to be able to slip the anchor at any time. Then I’ll wait for the enemy to approach and open fire at two cable lengths distance.”
“Why not weigh your anchor, Sir?”
“Without the captain and senior officers, the ability for manoeuvring and handling the guns will be severely limited and we’d be at a disadvantage, Sir. By bringing out the spring, the remaining officers and hands can concentrate on handling the guns. Also, by facing the entrance of the bay with my broadside, we protect the approach of our boats should the captain return in time.”
Strangely, Thomas felt completely at ease discussing this as if it were a tactical discussion in the gunroom.
“What if the enemy decides to ram you?”
A valid question, but expected. “I’ll have the spring cable slipped, Sir, thus riding my anchor cable with the bow facing the enemy, and the crew ready to repel boarders. Guns loaded with canister too.”
“No boarding nets, Mister Grey?”
“Not enough time, Sir. Besides, if we counter attack, they’d be in the way.”
“Mister Grey, your ship is ordered to sail for the South Sea. Which route do you choose?”
“Sir, which time of the year am I ordered to sail?”
“August.”
“Then I’d choose the Cape Horn route, Sir. Sailing in August means reaching the Horn in early Summer, the best time of the year, and saving two or three months, Sir.”
Next came two questions from Norris’s Handbook of Seamanship which Thomas had perused ad nauseam during his three years at the Academy, and he answered them easily.
“One last question, Mister Grey. You’re giving battle in narrow waters. The enemy succeeds in shooting away your foremast. The ship turns into the wind and drifts towards a shallows. How do you react?”
“I have the bow sprite sail set and the wreckage cleared, Sir. A reef in the mizzen tops’l. I’ll be ready to drop anchor, though.”
The three captains looked at each other and nodded. Whilst one of them began to write into Thomas’s logbook, Captain Drury looked at Thomas.
“You’ve passed, Mister Grey. Present your papers to your captain for notification of the Admiralty. My felicitations, Sir!”
“My most humble thanks, Sir!” Thomas answered automatically, accepting his journals from the other captain. “Am I excused?”
“Yes, sent in the next intrepid seafarer!”
When Thomas exited the cabin, twelve pairs of eyes were on him.
“How’d it go, man?”
“Passed. I am to send in the next.”
The scared midshipman was gone, and so the next man rose giving the others a mock salute before he disappeared in the cabin.
“What did they ask?” came the next question, and Thomas recalled the questions as far as he remembered. He then bid his good bye and wished the waiting candidates success. The watch officer was kind enough to signal for Wolverine to send a boat, and not fifteen minutes later, Thomas reported to Captain Benning.
“Well, Mister Grey?”
“Passed, Sir,” Thomas reported.
“Well, felicitations, Mister Grey! I was not quite certain of it given your sorry state, but to persevere in the face of adversity is the true measure of an officer.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“I shall submit your papers to Sir Cuthbert’s staff. Of course, until further notice, you will continue your duties in this ship. You will be rated master’s mate and your pay will increase of course.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hold yourself ready tomorrow evening. We shall have a dinner to celebrate.”
“That is very kind of you, Sir. Will you allow me to contribute to the expenses?”
Benning grinned. “The drink will be on you. Now, get some sleep. You’re on Middle Watch and you still look like death. I reckon that the board let you pass because they were scared of you!”
Of course, there was no sleep for Thomas. The gunroom wanted to know everything about the examination, and Thomas had to rehash all the questions and his answers. He was stone tired when he showed on deck to relieve Wainbridge, and he forced himself to walk around the deck for the entire four hours to stay awake.
He slept late into the next morning, almost to the middle of the Forenoon Watch when he woke from the noises of a busy crew. He felt guilty about this, but Wainbridge told him not to.
“The Captain gave orders to let you sleep, Tom,” he grinned. “You’re on Afternoon Watch, Peter will have the First Dogwatch, I’ll have the Second, and Jack will have the First Watch. He’s not one to celebrate anyway, and it will free up everybody else.”
Jack was Jack Warner, the rather reclusive master’s mate.
Thomas shook his head and grinned ruefully. “I had better turn in the bank draft to pay for all the drink.”
“Yes, but then again, it is a reason to celebrate. You’ll be made lieutenant in no time.”
Pillard brought him breakfast and afterwards he asked for a brief shore leave. At the paymaster’s office, he was able to convert his year-old bank draft into £50 in banknotes and coins. He was also able to post a letter to his family to which he had quickly added the information about passing the lieutenant’s exam. At a merchant, he purchased a five pound bag of coffee beans, a pound of tea leaves and two pounds of sugar to stock the gunroom for the next weeks and perhaps months.
He returned in time to take over the Afternoon Watch after handing the goods over to Pillard. There was not much to do that afternoon. All the provisions had come aboard the day before and they were only waiting for their next orders. The boatswain was carrying out a few repairs in the running rigging, the sailmaker was airing spare sails, and the cooper was mending a hogshead. The pump was started, but it drew air after just a few minutes, and a stain on the deck was scrubbed away.
At 8 bells, he was relieved by a very nervous Midshipman Boyle, who was taking his first turn as a watch officer, and then went below to catch an hour or two of sleep. He slept through the next watch change and only woke when Pillard shook him.
“Six bells, Sir.”
Feeling vastly refreshed, Thomas went through the ritual of shaving off what blonde fuzz was sprouting from his upper lip. His breeches were still clean and so was his shirt. Pillard must have been busy, since all the rest of Thomas’s shirts and breeches were freshly washed and pressed. Perhaps it helped to slip a coin to the man from time to time Thomas thought.
At the beginning of the First Watch, all officers except for Mister Warner climbed into the longboat and were ferried to the quay. Captain Benning had reserved a separate room in the Red Lion Inn. They had roast mutton with fresh potatoes and vegetables, a heavenly treat for men who lived on salted pork most of the time. For drink, there was Portuguese vinho but also English ale, and the mood became merry in no time at all. Thomas was toasted of course, but so were the Captain and the ship and the entire Royal Navy. The evening was quite the success everybody admitted, and when Thomas had paid the tab he was over two guineas the poorer.
Of course, he had the Middle Watch again, forcing him to stay awake for another four hours after returning to the Wolverine. Walking about the deck helped him to stay awake until he was able to turn in. Once again, he slept late and had a leisurely breakfast with Wainbridge who had become a good friend for Thomas.
Their quiet stay in Gibraltar finally ended in the next morning when a boat from the shore brought messages for Captain Benning. The sailing master was summoned to the cabin and a half hour later, Wolverine was readied for sea. Later in the day, four transport ships from further up the bay weighed anchor, and when they approached, all hands were called. While the topmen entered up to loosen sails, the Marines and deckhands manned the capstan. Five minutes of exertion had the anchor broken from the ground and when the topsails were braced, Wolverine quickly gathered speed.
Thomas happened to be the officer of the watch. When they rounded the point behind the four transports, Captain Benning joined him.
“Signal to the convoy: course due East, Mister Grey.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Thomas replied automatically before he relayed the order to the midshipman of the watch, Mister Pons. Once the signal flags had been hoisted long enough to be read and understood, the Captain gave the next order.
“Quartermaster, due East! Mister Grey, kindly haul down the signal flags.”
Thomas had the watch trim the sails for the new course whilst Pons lowered the flags, the signal to execute the order. Soon all five vessels were on the same course, with Wolverine sailing to windward and parallel to her charges. This had all become an oft-practiced routine for them. Captain Benning nodded.
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