The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) (39 page)

Pollywog  Officially a tadpole, but used to denote any that had not crossed to the southern hemisphere.

Preventive Service  The customs (or excise) service; at the time both acted independently.

Privy Garden 
(Slang)
Privy Garden was a disreputable part of London particularly associated with prostitutes. It is now known as Whitehall.

Pushing School 
(Slang)
A brothel.

Punch House   Military term for a Pot House, or public bar.

Quarterdeck  In larger ships the deck forward of the poop, but at a lower level. The preserve of officers.

Queue  A pigtail. Often tied by a seaman's best friend (his tie mate).

Ratlines  Lighter lines, untarred and tied horizontally across the shrouds at regular intervals, to act as rungs and allow men to climb aloft.

Reef  A portion of sail that can be taken in to reduce the size of the whole.

Reefing points  Light line on large sails, which can be tied up to reduce the sail area in heavy weather.

Reefing tackle  Line that leads from the end of the yard to the reefing cringles set in the edges of the sail. It is used to haul up the upper part of the sail when reefing.

Rigging  Tophamper; made up of standing (static) and running (moveable) rigging, blocks etc. Also
(slang)
Clothes.

Rummer  Large drinking glass originating in Holland.

Running  Sailing before the wind.

Sawbones 
(Slang)
A
s
urgeon or physician.

Schooner  Small craft with two or three masts.

Scran 
(Slang)
Food.

Scupper  Waterway that allows deck drainage.

Sea Fencibles  A naval militia protecting the mainland of Great Britain during invasion.

Sheet  A line that controls the foot of a sail.

Shrouds  Lines supporting the masts athwart ship (from side to side) which run from the hounds (just below the top) to the channels on the side of the hull.

Soft tack  Bread.

Specie  Gold, either coin or bullion.

Spirketting  The interior lining or panelling of a ship
.

Spring  Hawser attached to a fixed object that can be tensioned to move the position of a ship fore and aft along a dock, often when setting out to sea. Breast lines control position perpendicular to the dock.

Sprit sail  A square sail hung from the bowsprit yards, less used by 1793 as the function had been taken over by the jibs although the rigging of their yards helps to brace the bowsprit against sideways pressure.

Stay sail  A quadrilateral or triangular sail with parallel lines, usually hung from under a stay.

Stern sheets  Part of a ship's boat between the stern and the first rowing thwart and used for passengers.

Stingo 
(Slang)
Beer.

Strake  A plank.

Suds (in the) 
(Slang)
To be in trouble.

Tack  To turn a ship, moving her bows through the wind. Also a leg of a journey relating to the direction of the wind. If from starboard, a ship is on the starboard tack. Also the part of a fore and aft loose-footed sail where the sheet is attached, or a line leading forward on a square course to hold the lower part of the sail forward.

Taffrail  Rail around the stern of a vessel.

Tophamper  Literally any weight either on a ship’s decks or about her tops and rigging, but often used loosely to refer to spars and rigging.

Torrid Zone  The central latitude zone of the earth that separates the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn. Thinking that any area so close to the equator would be too hot for habitation, Aristotle first named the region. (The only area he considered liveable was the Temperate Zone, lying between the Frigid Zone, from the Arctic Circle to the pole, and the Torrid.)

Trick 
(Slang)
A period of duty.

Veer  Wind change, clockwise.

Waist  Area of main deck between the quarterdeck and forecastle.

Watch  Period of four (or in case of dog watch, two) hour duty. Also describes the two or three divisions of a crew.

Watch list  List of men and stations, usually carried by lieutenants and divisional officers.

Wearing  To change the direction of a square rigged ship across the wind by putting its stern through the eye of the wind. Also jibe – more common in a fore and aft rig.

Windward  The side of a ship exposed to the wind.

(sample chapter)

Published by Old Salt Press, LLC

ISBN-10: 9882360-3-6

ISBN-13: 978-0-9882360-3-5

E.Book: 978-0-9882360-4-2

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Chapter One

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S
he was far smaller than any vessel Griffin had ever served in, let alone commanded. Her single mast appeared tall and the running bowsprit overly long, even while in harbour and fully retracted. That, together with the gaff and boom of the main, as well as two sizeable square sail yards, spoke of a massive area of canvas: possibly too large for the short and slightly stubby hull. Certainly there could be no greater contrast between this and the lumbering East Indiaman he had so recently quitted: the cutter was perfect.

Looking across the span of Newhaven Harbour Griffin could easily imagine the small craft's sail pattern and trace her underwater lines. He knew the keel must, by necessity, be deep and the corresponding draught would make shoal-water work dangerous. Cutters also had a reputation for being dark, damp and dirty. She would be fast, though, of that there could be no question and, if skilfully handled, very manoeuvrable. Griffin's seaman's mind raced and he felt his fingers work with anticipation. He supposed a landsman would equate it to getting to know a strange but powerful horse; one that might prove troublesome and was quite likely to buck its rider at the first opportunity but whom, once mastered, could only satisfy.

He continued to look for several more minutes, before the chill of the autumn afternoon forced him to move on. The harbour was wide at this point; he had the option of walking all the way back to the drawbridge and returning on the other side or taking the ferry that was conveniently moored nearby. The light would be failing before long, and he wanted to have a good look at his new command while there was still the opportunity, so he approached the small boat and a seaman presented himself.

“Want to cross, your honour?” the man asked.

Griffin nodded, and followed him into the ferry. “I'm going to the cutter,” he said, with an air of importance, and, because he could not resist, added, “I'm her new commander.”

Nothing was said in reply, but Griffin was conscious that he was being examined as the boat set out across the strong current. They had to wait while a heavily laden coal barge passed by, but soon he was climbing the opposite wharf and feeling in his pocket for the fare. The ferryman remained silent as he took the coin then turned his back, as if unwilling to accept that his passenger had ever actually existed.

Griffin went to speak but changed his mind, directing his attention to the cutter instead. Her berth was let in slightly from the run of the river, forming what appeared to be a private harbour. The tide was in full flow and a good deal of debris and flotsam had been washed up and trapped between the side of the vessel and the quay. That current would have to be allowed for when manoeuvring, although the safety provided by such a mooring outweighed many of the disadvantages. He stepped onto the short gangway and looked about. There was no sign of an anchor watch, and as his shoe touched the deck Griffin called out. His voice echoed about the quiet harbour and he looked around in the stillness that seemed to mock him. Then movement from the forward companionway caught his attention.

“What's about there?” The man, who was of an indeterminable age, glared at Griffin in obvious annoyance as he struggled up on deck. He was dressed as a seaman, although the baggy 'petticoat' trousers were unusual, and seemed to place him about thirty years in the past. “You got reason to be aboard, mister?”

Griffin opened his mouth to speak but could not find the exact words; it was hardly the start he had planned.

“'Cause if you ain't, you'd better get off and damned quick,” the seaman informed him. “This is a government vessel and those what don't belong ain't welcome.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” Griffin finally replied, and was about to say more when the cover of the stern hatch flew back with a crack and both men turned to see another figure step up. He was dressed far more smartly, and in a uniform that was almost that of a junior Royal Naval officer.

“This is Mr Davies,” the seaman announced, almost smugly. “He'll sort you out.”

The officer, who was on deck now, regarded the newcomer cautiously. “Can I be helping you?” His voice was soft, but with an edge and, despite the polite enquiry, not encouraging. “Do you have business aboard?”

“I am your new commanding officer,” Griffin replied, self-consciously. He noticed that both men were taken by surprise, and the seaman actually withdrew a step, narrowly avoiding falling backwards down the hatchway.

“Commander Griffin, sir?” The officer appeared to be a good deal older than Griffin, probably in his late forties. He had short, curly and greying hair, blue eyes in a ruddy, weather-beaten face, broad shoulders and a body that looked as if it might be inclined to fat. His uniform was functionally smart – not crisp, as if awaiting inspection and Griffin guessed he would be a solid and dependable seaman. “We weren't expecting you until the morrow, sir.” The clear eyes swept down his new commander's civilian clothes.

“I caught an earlier coach,” Griffin replied, almost apologetically. “My uniform and other dunnage is expected at any time.”

The mate's expression relaxed slightly. “I see, sir. And are you berthing aboard?”

“No.” Griffin's first conversation as a captain was definitely not following the intended course; he had hardly anticipated starting with a string of explanations. “I have taken a room in the town, but would welcome a chance to look about.”

“Of course, sir.” The man stepped forwards and extended his hand. “Forgive me: my name is William Davies, mate of the
Bee
.”

Griffin took the horny grip that was firm, but not painful. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Davies; will you accompany me?”

“Be glad to, sir.” Davies gave a neutral smile. “Shall we start below?”

Griffin followed the mate down the steep companionway that he knew would lead to the officers' accommodation. “Have you served long?”

“I've been mate for nigh on two years,” Davies replied, turning at the bottom of the ladder. “Afore that I was a deputed mariner for three and an ordinary mariner for five, though four of those was in our previous vessel. I was with the colliers afore that, apart from a brief spell with his Majesty.”

“So the
Bee
is six years old?” Griffin asked.

Davies considered the matter more slowly. “Must be. Though she still feels like a new'n to me.”

Griffin nodded and looked about the tiny chart room. The room was dark, with an overhead of well below five feet that made standing upright impossible.

“Did you not consider applying for command yourself?”

“Oh indeed, sir,” Davies answered. “And was considered, though found myself turned over in favour of a better man.”

There was a silence that remained awkward for no more than a second before both began to laugh.

“Well, I shall try to justify your description, Mr Davies,” Griffin said, still chuckling. “Though I'll admit it now, revenue work is a new skill for me to acquire.”

“I take it that this is your first appointment?”

Griffin noted that the mate had missed the customary 'sir', but in such an informal atmosphere as that of the empty chart room he did not feel inclined to correct him.

“Indeed, I have spent some time at the Board of Customs in London, and a month or more sailing with Commander Saunder at Harwich – a busy station, I'd chance.”

Davies raised his eyebrows. “You'll find we have our fair share of excitement on this coast, though the Shoreham boat takes most of the prizes.”

“Well that is something I intend to change,” Griffin said, a little stiffly.

The mate gave a half-smile, “Very good, sir.”

Griffin cleared his throat, conscious that he might have committed a faux pas, but unaware of the reason. “And afore that I served with the East India Company,” he continued rather lamely.

“Did you, now?” The mate was showing more interest. “I'd imagine that to be a sight apart from what you'll be finding here.”

“Which is why I changed,” Griffin agreed. “I worked up to second mate, did three full China trips and two to the plantations in New South Wales, but eventually became bored with the merchant life.”

“Not enough action?”

Griffin considered for a moment, wondering if he might be giving too much away. But Davies was to be his second-in-command and had an agreeable, trustworthy air about him. “In the main, yes, that is true. I had it in mind to try for the RN, but there seems to be a wealth of officers requiring positions at present, and I have never sat a board. But I also missed England; foreign travel is all very well for a spell, but not for life.”

“And are you liking it now?” Davies asked. “Is England all you had hoped?”

“Is anything?” Griffin replied. “The summer was fine though this colder weather is hardly to my taste, and we seemed better served aboard an Indiaman than you are ashore. There is much in the place that I do not understand, but it will do for a trial, and if you can truly show me some action we might make the better of it. Come, let us continue the inspection.”

Davies glanced about the tiny space. “Well this, as you can see, is the chart room, though we use it as a general mess.” He glanced at Griffin. “In truth, in a vessel this size most of the accommodation has more'n one use. There's none of your John Company luxury in the customs service, I fear.”

“I did not expect luxury when I joined, Mr Davies.” Griffin replied sharply. 

The mate lowered his head briefly. “No, sir. I'm sure not: I was out of line and apologise.”