His Majesty's Ship (20 page)

      
“Half a fathom of log line,” Skirrow informed him. “You'd think it was made of wire, the mess it makes!”

      
The drummer stopped, and for a moment there was an eerie silence. The captain read the charges in a low but powerful voice and the air hung heavy as time was suspended. Then Matthew looked away and the punishment began.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

      
The day after Crehan's punishment was a Sunday. By then the wind had dropped completely, the clouds all but disappeared, and the sun shone down on the small convoy that drifted untidily across the smooth sea. On the previous day the decks had been stoned twice, once in the morning, and once in the late afternoon, to reduce the work for the official day of rest. The hands were roused half an hour earlier than other days, and jostled with each other over the shaving kids, running the open razors over their necks and faces with nothing but their own hands and experience to guide them. Then it was clean shirts, white duck trousers and best blue jackets; the bell had been rung for divine service, and the common pendant raised to the mizzen peek.

      
Bryant, the chaplain, watched them surreptitiously as he laid the union flag over a pair of upturned casks on the break of the quarterdeck. Bryant knew himself to be unpopular, and was sorry, although it seemed that any move he made to rectify the situation was doomed to rebound. On earlier voyages he had tried to empathise with the men, come down to their level and share their lot, but what could a man brought up in a bishop's palace share with another whose idea of refinement was raw spirit and a freshly toasted rat? The efforts made on his part had merely robbed him of the dignity his office held, and Bryant knew that the next few weeks were not going to be easy.

      
Strangely it was precisely that knowledge that had made him stay on as chaplain, when he could so easily have resigned during his recent leave. He had decided to go ashore as soon as the wedding garland was hoisted, knowing the scenes of debauchery and sin that normally followed would be too much for him. The time with his father had been a test in itself and it had been hard to turn from the luxury of a home where he was loved and respected, to one where he could expect to be taunted, tripped or spat upon at any moment. Some chaplains could carry themselves well with seamen, could earn their respect, and even be taken into their confidence. Bryant was not one of those, and he had long ago resigned himself to the fact, along with the abuse that seemed to go hand in hand with his calling. His only consolation lay in the knowledge that, if he was truly serious in his vocation, there were few more needy places for him and the Lord’s word than a ship of war at sea.

      
And so he had returned to
Vigilant
, knowing that to do otherwise would be to deny his faith—the faith that led him as strongly and effectively as any press-gang. There was empathy indeed and the irony was not lost on Bryant for, of all the pressed men on board, he was certainly the most miserable.

      
“Fine weather for it, padre.” Gregory informed him as the hands fell in to their divisions and waited patiently for the service to begin. Bryant smiled cautiously at the lieutenant, never certain if he was being teased, or merely tolerated. Dyson appeared next, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement, followed by Carling, the captain of marines, and the other lieutenants. A few junior officers then emerged, taking a moment or two in deciding their rightful place on the quarterdeck, for there was little to tell which was the leeward side on such a still day.

      
Shepherd was last of all, and he strode up to the chaplain's primitive altar with such assurance that Bryant felt strangely jealous. He returned the captain's nod and turned to start the service; for this was his time now, the time when he had charge over the ship, the men, and their souls. And God help them all, he thought, as he began.

      
The marine band made a credible start to the hymn, and Bryant boldly led the singing, his voice often wavering several keys away from the musicians. Eventually it was done, and he began his short sermon. This was based on one he had read at the start of the previous voyage, and broadly similar to that used on the onset of the voyage before that. It covered the leaving of home, with more than a mention of the duty every man owed to his country. In a time when wars were paid for by the rich, but fought by the poor, Bryant took care to keep the satire from creeping into his voice. Then he went on to describe the adventure that lay before them. That they, like the ship, were on a voyage, a voyage that would take them through life. He looked down at the bored faces, still and silent due only to the discipline they were under, and realised what a waste of time it all was.

      
The captain was also watching his crew while Bryant's sermon droned on. The men were hardly paying attention, but there was nothing new in that: seamen and conventional religion were hardly common bedfellows. Many held a strong faith, but few accepted the conformity of organised denomination, while others satisfied any such need with aphorisms and superstition. The men appeared impatient; there were signs of shuffling and whispers; nothing a warrant officer could actually identify and punish, but the first symptom of disruption. The first suggestion of a rebellion that might end with the loss of his ship, and possibly even his life.

      
That afternoon had been declared a holiday, a make and mend period when the decks became filled with men immersed in a dozen different tasks, from tattooing to scrimshaw. In a ship where some were new and untrained, Dyson had organised a series of drills and exercises that should knock them into shape. Looking at the hands now Shepherd longed to bring it into effect straight away, but felt almost instinctively it was not the time. In a world where men were mainly valued for their muscle power, it was easy to consider them as nothing more than beasts of burden. He looked along the faces, the young and old, tough and sensitive; these were people, many of whom had recently been wrenched from their homes. The next few days would give them ample time for training, but to rush things might just encourage the restlessness he had already noticed.

      
The sermon finished adequately enough, and after leading them through the Lord's Prayer, Bryant left the stage to more competent players.

      
Shepherd stepped forward and cleared his throat. This was an opportunity to address the crew, but he resisted the temptation. Perhaps in a week or so, when they had properly shaken down, would be a better time. He opened his copy of
King's Regulations
, as important to him as any bible was to Bryant. It was no accident that the divine service ended with the reading of the Articles of War, and Shepherd did so now with due reverence and clarity. These were the rules that bound each hand to him, the ship, and the Navy. And these were the laws each would be tried by, should they fail in any of their duties. The silence that greeted him was respectful and complete. It was their world that he spoke of, and the rules held a greater relevance than any supposed kingdom in the sky. The service ended abruptly, and the hands fell out, to mingle socially while the purser and his stewards issued the morning grog. Once this was down, they had a meal of pork and pease pudding to look forward to, followed by the afternoon's holiday of “make and mend”.

      
Jenkins, who had endured the time as well as any, fell in with O'Conner while the preparations for grog were made.

      
“That were a waste of time,” he muttered.

      
O'Conner looked at him cautiously; to openly criticize the divine service was not encouraged. “Why would you be saying that, then?”

      
“Blasted chaplain rumbles on about loving your fellow man,” Jenkins pulled a sour face. “Then the captain chimes in and says you’ll get hanged if they catch you.”
 

*****

      
The coffee was hot, sweet, and very strong; just the way he liked it. Shepherd sipped appreciatively, it was his first enjoyable drink of the voyage; the new steward had taken that long to correctly interpret his wishes. He sipped again, and pushed his chair back from his desk. He was part way though a letter to his wife. This may well be a futile affair as pure chance would dictate if they ran across a homeward bound transport on the way to St Helena. And as they were expecting to come straight back, there would be no point in transferring post on their arrival. Still, the exercise was good for reminding him of his home, even if it roused feelings that were hardly to be expected of a husband separated from his wife.

      
He had married early, as a midshipman, when he had been stationed in a frigate based at New York. His wife was the daughter of an army captain who had been posted to America, and liked the country enough to return when he resigned his commission. Despite inevitable friction during the American War, Shepherd supposed he was as happily married as any sailor had a right to expect. That was until the beginning of 'ninety-two when Anna's father died, and her sister decided to visit England to stay with them.

      
Sisters they were, although Katharine was nine years younger and the twenty years that they had been apart, living different lives under different conditions, had created two very diverse people. Anna was not one for airs and graces, but she knew her rôle in society, and had never let him down as the captain's lady. Katharine was far more down to earth. Her face was unfashionably tanned and she had a direct way of speaking that initially amused Shepherd, although he had been alarmed to notice other feelings that also began to stir.

      
Since the summer of 'ninety-two she had stayed with them in their house near Reigate. Shepherd had already been on half pay for two years, and yet they were moderately well off due in no small way to the estate of Anna's father. This was one of the main reasons why Katharine could move in and stay almost indefinitely. Besides it would hardly have done for an unmarried lady to set up house on her own, so what reason could he have had for objecting to her presence? And as the summer wore on he found that any latent protest melted completely in the warmth of her company.

      
They had taken to walking together, the two of them (Anna never cared for being out of doors), as well his dogs, and any house guest who happened to be staying. Shepherd took a landsman's delight in the Surrey countryside, and would have been happy to wander for days, were it not more seemly for a professional man to waste his time in other ways. But the presence of a foreign relative gave him full licence to show off his county, and who could be a more respectable escort than the sister of his wife?
 

      
After the walks it seemed only natural for Katharine to accompany him on his regular trips to London. While Shepherd reminded the Admiralty of his existence, she would tour the shops in Bond Street, to meet up with him in the evening. He remembered their conversations in the Hotel with almost as much pleasure as the silent rides back to Reigate in his carriage.

      
With a twinge of guilt Shepherd replaced his cup, and picked up his pen afresh. He re-read his last sentence and went to add more. His phrasing was careful; he knew Anna saved all his letters, and was sentimental enough to read them again if ever she was missing him. He also knew that fresh correspondence was greeted with great delight and read several times over, before inevitably being passed on for Katharine to enjoy as well.
 

*****

      
“I wanted to show you this, sir.” Pite offered the serving mallet to the first lieutenant.

      
“Yes?” Dyson felt the interrogative might have been unneces-sarily sharp, and continued in a softer tone. “What of it, Mr Pite?”

      
“Mr Rollston, the Cooper, found it in the middle hold, sir. He an' Mr Morrison were trying to salvage some of the provisions. This was by the cask that had sprung, sir.”

      
Dyson weighed the heavy mallet in his hand thoughtfully. “And you think someone used it to start the barrel?”

      
“Yes, sir.”

      
He was probably right. There were marine sentries stationed at all sensitive points, from the spirit room to the gratings (the latter being to dissuade the lazy from urinating into the bilges). But the middle hold carried mainly victuals of low appeal, and did not warrant a guard.

      
“Yet there was no one else in the hold when you investigated?” It would have been impossible to start the cask, and then escape without notice. The orlop had been filled with men seconds after the barrel had been broken.

      
“No, sir. Just me and Mr Smith. But then I wasn't looking for anyone. Whoever did this could have hidden himself away until we'd gone.”

      
Yes, there would have been no need for a rapid exit. And with the ship in the middle of a storm, no one would have commented on one empty hammock, when the normal occupant might well have chosen to sleep on deck. The only deadline would have been to be back for divisions, and that would have presented little problem.