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CHAPTER 2
A stray sunbeam
caught Anne Wentworth's eye, awaking her from a most satisfied
slumber. She stretched beneath the sheets of the rented bed,
naked as a jaybird, smelling some wonderful aroma, enjoying her
recollections of the night before. She had suspected she would
enjoy the more physical aspects of marriage with Frederick, and
last night did not disappoint. The first time was lovely,
but the second time…oh my…
"Anne?"
Anne's eyes popped
right open. She turned her head to see her husband, fully dressed
sitting on his side of the wedding bed, enjoying a cup of (now
that she was fully awake, her mind could understand what her
nose was trying to tell her) coffee. He had a small smirk on
his lips. "Good morning, dear."
"Good morning
to you, sir. Are you already out of bed?"
"As you see.
There is coffee on the night table for you."
"Thank you.
Is this a special occasion?"
"No my dear,
just the habit of a lifetime. I cannot abide lying in bed whist
the sun is up."
"Is that so?"
She sat up, not troubling to cover herself as the sheet fell
away from her torso. She took the cup from the night stand and
began to sip. "Ah…" she breathed.
"Teasing wench…"
Frederick's eyes grew dark. "I should answer your challenge
as you deserve, but…" he leaned close, "time and
tide waits for no man - or rented coach neither. A bit of breakfast
and we should be away." A light kiss. "But I shall
keep this lovely vision in my mind…" another kiss,
"and put paid to you at a more appropriate time…"
"I shall depend
upon that, my rhyming Lord and Master…"
The couple journeyed
though Wiltshire throughout that day, stopping only a few miles
from Hampshire for the night. There, to Mrs. Wentworth's delight,
Captain Wentworth kept to his promise of revenge. The next morning
the coach entered the county and crossed over to Portsea Island
and Portsmouth by mid day. "Where to, sir?" asked the
driver.
"The Navy docks,
if you please," returned Wentworth. Soon the carriage was
driving along the docks. Frederick looked intently out the window,
which was a source of amusement to his wife. But before Anne
would utter some witty remark, Frederick cried, "Here! Stop
here, driver!"
Before the carriage
could lurch to a stop Frederick threw open the door and leapt
out. Startled, Anne leaned over to see her husband's fate when
he stuck his head back in. "Mrs. Wentworth," he grinned,
"would you like to see your new home?"
"With all my
heart, captain."
Frederick helped
Anne out of the carriage. There before them, hard against the
dock, lay HMS Laconia. About 140 feet long, not counting
the bowsprit, it had three masts and a single deck of main guns.
Much lower to the water than the great line-of-battle ships,
like the Victory, it appeared fast and deadly. Or at least
it should; for at the time Anne first beheld the craft it was
an unholy mess. The masts were struck down to the deck, rope
and cordage were everywhere, several cannons were unfastened,
sails nowhere to be seen, and crawling over the mass, like ants,
were at least a hundred men. A din of hammers and saws and curses
filled the air. Anne shuddered - was she to go to sea in that?
She could not expect the ship to even leave the harbor and remain
dry. She turned to her husband to ask what had happened to his
command - had the French attacked? - when she saw a singular
look on his face. She had seen it only once before - on their
wedding night. It was at that moment that Mrs. Wentworth knew
she had a rival for her husband's affections. Frederick was in
love with the Laconia.
"Is she not
beautiful, my dear?" he cried.
"Oh yes…"
she lied, "I have never seen the like…" "She?"
Oh yes, of course…sailors refer to their ships as a female,
for some reason…
"To be sure,
she looks a bit shabby, with her yards all which way…but
see her lines! She'll do fifteen knots, ballast set right, or
I'm a Spaniard. Not any leeway to speak of. And dry as a bone
- and she being near twenty years on! Get her trim and ship-shape,
with a spot of paint and a shine on her brass, why she'd be the
Beauty of the Ocean!"
"Ahoy, captain!"
called a voice from the chaos.
"Ahoy, Mr.
Price!" Frederick returned. "Report, sir!"
From the Laconia
a tall, well-looking young officer crossed over the gang-plank
and walked towards them. He wore a worn blue coat, with one epaulette
on the right shoulder, and trousers. About five and twenty, his
open face wore what was to prove a habitual grin. He wore his
longish hair tied behind him. "My dear," said Frederick,
"allow me to present to you the First Lieutenant of the
Laconia, Mr. William Price. Mr. Price, Mrs. Wentworth."
Lt. Price bowed.
"Your servant, madam. Allow me to wish you joy."
"Thank you
Mr. Price. You are very busy, I see."
"Oh, yes ma'am.
Captain, the guns are all aboard and the powder and shot, too."
"Excellent,
William. I see you got the long twelves for the quarterdeck."
"Yes, sir.
They wanted to give me smashers, but I recalled your preference
and held out."
"Good, good.
I've no desire to fight from pistol-range with a lot of scurvy
pirates. You got the extra powder?"
"Yes sir -
enough to practice from here to St. George."
"Make sure
the bill goes to my agent. What's the matter with the fore topgallant
mast?"
"Carpenter
says she's sprung. Would you come take a look?"
"Yes, yes…I
beg your pardon, dear…please excuse us. We shan't be a minute."
The minute turned
into a quarter-hour, but it did not signify to Anne. She was
still attempting to clear her head - the nautical terms thrown
around by the two gentlemen had quite confused her. "Long
twelves"? "Smashers"? "Fore topgallant"?
She had no idea if they were important or not. Soon her husband
and his subordinate were leaving the ship.
"I'd like to
see that mast set right before sunset tomorrow, Mr. Price."
"Aye aye, sir
- as long as the supply yard comes through with the replacement."
"Any trouble,
use Admiral Croft's name - he'll be here in four days."
Price grinned. "It's
handy to have an admiral in the family, sir - if you don't mind
me saying so."
Wentworth actually
did mind, but chose not to correct his very able lieutenant.
"Well done, Mr. Price. I'll see you in the morning. Carry
on."
Price touched his
forelock, the naval version of a salute. "Yes sir. My complements,
Mrs. Wentworth."
Anne was replying
to Lt. Price when a Marine rider pulled up beside the party.
"Excuse me, but is Captain Wentworth aboard?"
"I am Captain
Wentworth," replied Frederick.
The Marine dismounted,
pulled an envelope from his saddlebag and saluted. "This
dispatch is for you, sir."
Frederick thanked
the Marine and then looked at the outside of the envelope. "Please
excuse me, my dear…" he mumbled as he turned to read
the communication. He stared at it for a moment before turning
back to the Marine.
"Any reply,
sir?" the Marine asked.
"Only that
I shall be there at the appointed time."
"Yes sir."
The Marine mounted his horse and rode away.
Frederick turned
to his companions, who were looking at him expectantly. "A
dispatch from London. I am to report to the Admiralty."
Lt. Price's face
lost all good humor. "Is it urgent, sir?"
Frederick shook
his head. "No…that's the strange thing about it. I
am to report a week hence."
Price hesitated
before responding. "Singular, sir." It was obvious
he felt stronger than that about the mysterious order.
"Singular indeed,
William." Why an express if there was no emergency? The
Navy wasn't one to send riders all over the countryside for its
own amusement. What is this all about? "Very well…until
the morrow, Mr. Price. Come, my dear…"
"Name?"
asked Lt. Mumphrey.
"Jeremiah Pyke,
sir."
"Where're you
from, Pyke?"
"London; I
was born in a village in Yorkshire."
Stokes added, "He
was pressed in Town, sir."
Mumphrey didn't
look apologetic. "Show Mr. Stokes your hands, Pyke."
After a moment, Pyke extended his hands to the boatswain, who
seized them and turned them over palm-side up. "Well, Stokes?"
Stokes looked at
the palms with an experienced eye. "He's done hard work,
but none recently."
Pyke said, "Was
a farm hand back home; came to the city to make me fortune."
Mumphrey turned
to the purser. "Put him down as 'landsman'. How are we for
idlers?"
"We have plenty.
We need a few hands for the larboard watch."
Mumphrey turned
back to Pyke. "You scared of heights, Pyke?"
The man hesitated
again. "Don't know, sir - never been high up."
Mumphrey chuckled.
"Well, we'll find out, soon enough. Sign here, or mark your
mark - you're a landsman on the larboard watch. Work hard and
keep your nose clean and you'll be Ordinary Seaman before you
know it." Pyke shrugged as he drew an "X" at the
spot pointed out to him. "Stokes, take him below - show
him his mess and where to store his kit, then put him to work.
Pyke, go with Mr. Stokes and do as he tells you." Pyke nodded
and followed the bo'sun.
A few minutes later,
Stokes and the new crewman approached a group of sailors. "Radle,
got a new man for your mess. Name's Pyke, landsman."
Radle stood up and
looked over the newcomer. Radle had been at sea for almost twenty
years, and had been on the Laconia for seven. He had been
a paid-off wharf rat looking for work when the crisis hit; he
had immediately sought out the Laconia again, as did many
of its crew. Her captain was considered fair, generous and, most
importantly, lucky. What money Radle had was from prizes taken
under "Fightin' Freddie" Wentworth.
"Been at sea
before, Pyke?" asked Radle.
"No - damned
press gang jumped me in London."
Radle snorted. "Well,
you could be on a worse ship, mate."
"Take him in
hand, Radle," ordered the bo'sun.
"Aye aye. Pyke,
this here's Eades, Lauck and Utley - all right seamen. My name's
Radle - I'm Captain of the mess. You just do what we tell you
and all will be well."
"All right."
"Good - you
see a rope that needs haulin' you do it, or you'll feel the bo'sun's
starter on your shoulders. The Captain's a good man, but he don't
take to idleness. Just keep your eye on me. Aye, you could be
on worse ships, matey. Captain Wentworth's got his share o' prizes
and more besides - you won't think I got me own house in Portsmouth,
would you? And he don't waste men neither. The Captain ain't
shy, you understand; just careful like. No, I don't think Wentworth's
scared o' anything - Eades you remember, back in the Year 10
when…"
Eades and Lauck
began talking about their experiences at sea as well, but Pyke
only paid half a mind to it. Inside he was still cursing his
luck. He had escaped the dull back-breaking labor of Yorkshire,
and the sheriff too, for easier money in London. There he had
fallen in with some fellows who knew a thing or two. They had
a nice little racket, offering "protection" in the
street where they lived. Oh, it was grand; just walking up the
lane, proud as princes, women for the taking, and shopkeepers
falling over themselves to pay up. Then the damn Bow Street Runners
had showed up and Pyke had been lucky to escape with the clothes
on his back. A couple of weeks later Pyke had figured everything
had died down. Walking on the street, looking for what remained
of his comrades, he had been set upon by a Press Gang. Now here
he was, stuck on a ship, doomed to the kind of hard labor he
had tried so hard to run away from. Pyke decided that if he didn't
have bad luck he wouldn't have any at all.
Pyke looked over
the side and saw an officer speaking to a gentleman and lady
next to a carriage. Radle noticed what had caught his attention.
"That there's Captain Wentworth now - in his civilians -
talking to Lt. Price."
"Who's the
lady, Radle?" asked Utley.
"Don't rightly
know…say, didn't the Captain get married recent like?"
"Aye, he did,"
answered Eades. "The carpenter's been making changes in
the Captain's quarters."
"You mean he's
taking her on board?" asked Utley.
Radle snorted. "The
Captain taking a lady on board? Have you been in the rum, Eades?
Wentworth would no sooner take a woman on the barky than turn
Papist!"
"You say what
you like," retorted Eades. "I know what I was told."
"The Laconia
a 'hen frigate' - never thought I would see the day," said
Lauck.
"And you still
ain't yet - you mark my words!" cried Radle.
Pyke didn't follow
the argument - he was looking at the woman as a Marine rode up
to the group onshore. Look at that piece. Some men have all
the luck…
"Mr. Price,"
said Stokes, the boatswain, "he's back."
Price inwardly groaned.
"Thank you, Stokes. Alex, take over."
Lt. Mumphrey said
in a low voice, "Will, why not get Greengard to run him
off?"
"No…he's
no bother…I shan't be long." Price put on his hat and
again walked off the ship. Waiting on the docks was a shabby-looking
older man squinting hard at the activity aboard. "Hello,
Father."
"Well Billy,
what the devil are those fools up to now?" William's father
was Lieutenant Price, Royal Marines (retired). Fifteen years
before he had been injured in a minor skirmish with the Spaniards
and paid off as a cripple. While he and his son shared the appellation
of "lieutenant", they were not of the same rank - William,
who was actually a Commander, was equivalent to a Lt. Colonel
in the Marines. However, it amused his father to overlook that
fact and come to the Navy Docks to "advise" his son.
"I've never seen a ship look so fucking arse-backwards in
me life!"
"Carpenter
says the butt on the fore topgallant mast is sprung. We're fishing
her out to put a new one in its place."
"Is that so?
And it takes half the crew to do it? This modern Navy…why
in my day…"
William waited patiently
as his father ranted on. At least he's half-sober today.
Finally when he ran out of steam, his son answered, "We
are in a bit of a hurry - Captain wants the replacement up as
soon as may be. The more hands on the job, the quicker it's finished.
We're in port, so no harm done. It's not like we need to sail
the ship."
Mr. Price could
not argue his son's logic so he turned his attention to something
else. "Are those 12-pounders I see on the quarterdeck?"
He was referring to the ten cannons visible.
"That they
are."
"Are the bastards
in the Armory out of smashers? Holding out on you, the sons-of-bitches.
You mark my words, there's money changing hands!"
"No Father.
Captain wanted long twelves."
"What? Instead
of 32-pound carronades? Is he touched in the head?"
"Father, you
know carronades are only good at short range. They're fine if
we're going toe-to-toe with them. But we're going after pirates
and blockade runners. They won't stay to fight - we'll
have to run them down. The long twelves, used as chasers, will
let us reach out and touch them."
"Not much weight…"
Mr. Price wasn't giving up yet, "…won't do much to
the hull at all…"
"That's so,
but we'll be aiming at the rigging."
"Bah! French
tricks - is that what the Navy's coming to? No wonder the Colonials
kicked your arses."
William grimaced
- his father was referring to the devastating defeats the Royal
Navy had suffered against the Americans' superb 44-gun frigates
Constitution and United States - defeats only partly
revenged by the HMS Shannon upon the USS Chesapeake
off Boston Harbor. The big 44's were larger and better armed
than their British counterparts, and just as well handled. The
effectiveness of the American ships had sent a shock though the
Navy - and panic in the Admiralty. Even though the war against
the United States was now over, the Royal Navy was quickly making
new 38- and 40-gun frigates with 24-pound guns or converting
older two-deckers into frigates by cutting away the upper gun
desk and calling them razee frigates.
"That's not
how Nelson would do it, by God!" his father ranted on. "'Never
mind maneuvers, just go straight at 'em' - that's how an Englishman
fights! But now, they're all a bunch of worm-eaten whore-sons…"
"Father, I
have to get back to work…"
"Uhhh…oh
yes…got to keep his Lordship happy…" Mr. Price
always referred to ships' captains as "Your Lordship"
whether they were ennobled or not. "Billy, why don't you
come home? Your mother misses you…"
"Father, as
Captain Wentworth is not aboard ship, I can not sleep off her…you
know that…"
"Ha! He's too
busy warming up some other bed…I saw his doxy…"
"Father! That
was Mrs. Wentworth!"
"Oh! Uhh…well,
begging your pardon…how was I to know? It's not like she
were wearin' a sign, for Christsakes…"
"Father…"
"There's plenty
of your captains that are sleeping on the wrong side of the bed,
you believe me…"
"Father…"
"All right,
I'm sorry…"
"Thank you.
Was there anything else, Father?"
"Well, now
that you bring it up…"
Here it comes…
"We are a bit
tight just now…we don't need much, you understand…"
William sighed.
He sent a quarter of his meager pay to his mother each month,
and yet… "How much, Father?"
Mr. Price's eyes
gleamed. "A sovereign would set us up just fine, son."
William handed the money over. "Thankee, son. You come to
Sunday dinner, mind."
"I'll be there.
Goodbye Father - give my love to Mother." But by then Mr.
Price was already walking away, waving over his head. William
returned to the Laconia.
Mumphrey looked
at him pitifully. "He'll just spend it on drink, Will."
"I know, Alex…I
know…"
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