His Majesty's Ship
Read His Majesty's Ship Online
Authors: Alaric Bond
Tags: #Historical, #Naval - 18th century - Fiction, #War & Military, #rt, #mblsm, #Royal Navy
HIS MAJESTY’S SHIP
by
Alaric Bond
Fireship Press
www.FireshipPress.com
His Majesty’s Ship
- Copyright © 2010 by Alaric Bond
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN-13:
978-1-935585-29-9
BISAC Subject Headings:
FIC014000
FICTION / Historical
FIC032000
FICTION / War & Military
Address all correspondence to:
Fireship Press, LLC
P.O. Box 68412
Tucson, AZ
85737
USA
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To Tim
PART ONE
AT ANCHOR
CHAPTER ONE
“I'll miss you, Rosie.”
She stopped folding the clothes and looked at him doubtfully.
“Go on, in a couple of days this ship’ll be at sea. You'll have enough to do without thinkin' of me.”
“Mebbe you're right.” Jenkins sat back against the smooth oak knee that marked the limit of their small space on the crowded deck and fiddled aimlessly with his tobacco box. It was made of tin, with a horse's head embossed on the lid. It was also empty. He'd had the box more than ten years yet had never really looked at the decoration before.
“I could be around when you gets back.” The lower gundeck was filled with a constant clatter of conversation, although her soft words found their mark.
“You won't know when that'll be.”
“I won't, but I could look out.”
“You'll be wi' someone else, most like.” Strange how he couldn't say, “another man”.
“Might be, there again...”
That was one of the things he always forgot about women. Men teased, but with women there was a sexual edge that definitely raised the stakes. He felt a lump growing in his throat. The ship was being cleared of doxies; within half an hour they'd all be single men again. Single men, after six weeks of marriage; the longest time Jenkins could remember with one woman.
Vigilant
had been in commission for almost as long as they had been at war; he'd grown used to both, and didn't suppose the coming trip would hold any surprises. But then there had been many other doxies in his past, and he had thought exactly the same about Rosie.
“We had a good time, Clem.”
“Didn't get no shore leave.”
“Didn't expect none. 'sides, costs less staying on board.”
“No privacy.”
She met his eye and smiled. “We done all right.”
The voice of Clarke, one of the boatswain's mates, cut through their intimacy. “Come on, come on, you got to be off afore the next bell.” He walked through the crowded gundeck, the knotted rope's end of his starter swinging in gentle parody. Without stopping the petty officer swooped down on a piece of discarded female underwear, and swung it aloft, before it was roughly snatched from him with a squeal and some uncouth laughter. Then his eyes travelled to the quiet couple by the knee and for a moment he almost paused. The coarse smile softened and, looking away, he moved on with a maturity and understanding that would have surprised many.
“They don't seem a bad bunch,” said Rosie.
“No, reckon we're all right. Captain's a seaman, at least.”
“Make a difference, does it?”
Jenkins nodded.
“Well, that's me finished.” She stood up from her bag, and brushed her hands together, her dark hair hardly touching the deckhead.
“You're going then?” It was an odd question for a seasoned campaigner and again their eyes met; this time it was the woman who broke the spell.
“I have to, 'less I grows a beard and signs on.”
Together they made their way to the entry port, and joined the crowd of men and women who waited there. For most of the time they were silent then, as her turn came, he suddenly spoke out.
“I don't know how to find you, I mean, where you live, an' all.”
Without speaking she pressed a small bone brooch into his hand.
“Ask at The Crown, see Mrs Powell, she’ll know where I’m about.” Then she kissed him once, and was gone.
The noise of the ship slowly broke into his thoughts, and he was roughly pushed aside by a couple of drunken women who shouted and stank with equal force. Turning away he looked briefly at the brooch before placing it in his tobacco box, and making his way back to the area of deck that had been their home. Rightly his quarters were further forward, but that space had been taken by others, and the small patch of gundeck next to the knee had accommodated them well. With the ship working up he'd have to return to his proper berth, and Jenkins slowly began to gather his few possessions together.
“She gone, then?”
He looked up at Clarke, the boatswain's mate, searching his face for some glimpse of humour, and finding none.
“Aye, she's gone.” he said.
“Never mind, there'll be others.”
Turning, Clarke caught the spectacular rump of a large woman with his starter. The sound of the laughter passed over Jenkins.
“Aye, maybe there will,” he said.
*****
The sun was low in the sky, and the spring afternoon air had cooled considerably. Shutters were starting to appear over the Portsmouth shops, and a raw breeze sliced through the narrow streets and alleyways. The elderly master's mate was on his way to a warm fire, and stopped reluctantly when the boy approached him.
“Which ship are you looking for?” he asked, the impatience evident in his voice.
“A f-frigate,” the lad stammered slightly and appeared awkward. He added a mumbled “sir” as an afterthought.
The warrant officer considered the boy, or perhaps youth was a better description. Slightly below average height, although still with a bit of growing to do, and dark serious eyes. The man put him at fourteen; clean, reasonably fit and quite possibly mad.
“What's her name?”
At this the boy faltered, and the officer half expected him to run.
“I, I'm not sure, I don't know, sir. I was jus' lookin' for a frigate.”
So, his assessment had been remarkably close. “You're looking to join a ship?” he asked, more gently.
“Yes, sir.”
“
Royal
Navy?”
He nodded.
“I see,” the old man said, and he did; all so clearly. But it was too cold to stand about. “Walk with me and tell me about yourself. An' don't call me sir, I was never that sort of an officer.”
The couple strolled easily, once the youth's initial shyness had worn off. The man learned about the small house in Leatherhead where the boy had grown up, and the old sailor who worked as the town's carpenter and unofficial naval recruitment officer, or so it appeared. The boy's father was a schoolmaster, and the idea of his eldest son joining the Navy sounded very much against his wishes.
“But he knows you're here?” the man asked, pausing to look the lad straight in the face.
“He knows,” the dark brown eyes looked black in the shadowed light. “He would have sent me as first class volunteer, but it didn't work out.”
The old man nodded. It was the fastest way to the quarterdeck for anyone not connected with the Navy, but to become a King's Letter Boy needed money, or the right connections. Captains could grow rich on the considerations of wealthy parents eager to be rid of troublesome offspring, and in a world where much depended on influence, finding a berth for the younger son of a lord would do most officers nothing but good. It was doubtful if a simple school teacher would find anyone willing to give away such a valuable position.
They reached the harbour wall as the lad came to the end of his story. There was a pause as the warrant officer considered him.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Matthew Jameson.”
“So how did you get here?” he asked, more for something to say.
“I walked,” Matthew replied simply.
