His Majesty's Ship (14 page)

      
This time his step was bold, and he rapped on the deal door with all the assurance of a lieutenant. The same elderly man who Matthew had first met the day before opened the door and stared myopically at the pair.

      
“Message from Mr Morrison,” Jake's voice was loud and confidant. “Says you're to meet him in the stewards' room.”

      
“Stewards' room?” he shook his head uncertainly. “But I got me manifests.”

      
Jake paused a fraction too long, and Matthew felt his body tense.

      
“'E said to forget about them, and meet him.” Jake's voice had lost some of its assurance, although the old man still listened intently. “’E said it were important.”

      
“I see, I got to go to the stewards' room, an' meet Mr Morrison?”

      
“That's right.”

      
A faint twinkle appeared in the faded eyes. “An I suppose I jus' leaves this room wide open?”

      
Jake opened his mouth and considered for a moment.

      
“You all knows I ain't 'lowed keys, I suppose you were gonna stand in and guard the place for me?”

      
Matthew made ready to run, even though the elderly man now had a sly grin on his face.

      
“Think jus' 'cos a man's old, e's gonna be daft do 'e?” Mercifully he stepped back into the room before the boys could conjure up an answer. Jake flashed a worried smile at Matthew, who had taken a pace back, and both turned to walk away. Then the door opened again and the man was back. He held two clenched fists out towards the boys.

      
“'Ere you are, an' don't try no tricks'n future.”
 

      
Jake seemed unwilling to go near the man, but Matthew sensed something in his manner, and walked towards him. He held his hands cupped under one of the fists and received a warm handful of raisins. Seeing this Jake immediately came forward, hands outstretched for his share, before skipping off into the darkness of the orlop.

      
Matthew stayed and looking up, he whispered his thanks. The man gave him a tired smile. “Bugger off.” he said, and Matthew left.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      
The next morning was grey and filled with rain. Lieutenant Timothy, who had the watch, stood in the dubious shelter of the mizzen shrouds; hands behind back, glass tucked under one arm, and shoulders hunched to allow his hat to cover the nape of his neck. A short man, inclined to portliness, and currently covered in many layers of clothing, his stance gave him an odd, beetle-like appearance, although there were few on deck to fully appreciate this. It was six bells in the forenoon watch, before long the other officers and midshipmen would assemble to take their noon sights, and the new navigational day would begin. But for the moment Timothy had the quarterdeck, and the rain, pretty much to himself.

      
A shout from above drew his attention, and Timothy reluctantly returned to his correct position next to the binnacle.

      
“What do you see there?” he bellowed.

      
The masthead's voice was equally strong, and carried easily down to the deck. “Three ships incoming to larboard, look like merchants.”

      
Timothy nodded, not an unlikely sighting for the Channel, although they could be the first of a large convoy, in which case there would probably still be Navy ships as escorts.

      
“I saw three ships come sailing in,” he said, absent-mindedly. He turned to Pite, the midshipman of the watch.

      
“Beg pardon, sir?”

      
Timothy smiled. “Never mind. Tell the captain, then pass the word for Mr King.” Pite nodded, much relieved, and touched his hat before dashing off. King was new to his post, and it would do him little harm to be prepared for the exchange of recognition signals.

      
Within half an hour the ships were in sight from the deck, although the rain distorted their images into a vague smudge. Shepherd inspected them for several minutes before turning his glass onto the commodore's ship. A slight smile spread across his face as he lowered the telescope and closed it with a snap. At that moment Humble, the master, appeared on the quarterdeck sextant in hand, followed by a group of midshipmen with their quadrants. Shepherd turned to him.

      
“Mr Humble, There are three inbound merchant ships on the larboard quarter. I would be obliged if you would take us closer.”

      
Humble touched his hat and, exchanging his sextant with Timothy's glass, he inspected the convoy. His mind already carried all the necessary information about their present course, wind and the set of the sails.

      
“Alter course two points to larboard,” he muttered to the helmsmen.

      
Timothy called the hands to the braces and
Vigilant
creaked slowly round in the light wind and drizzle.

      
Drawn by the unexpected change of course, the quarterdeck was now positively alive with officers. Tait and King exchanged a glance. It was quite conceivable that the captain had a personal reason for closing with the ships, possibly wanting to pass a message home. He may even be intending to send Simpson back, although that was less likely. They were not left to wonder for long.

      
“Mr Timothy, you have the watch, I believe?”

      
“Yes, sir!” Timothy stepped forward and touched his hat.

      
“We're closing with home bound ships, Mr Timothy. I propose to make up our numbers.” The captain turned and caught Dyson's eye. “We could use some more people, Mr Dyson?”

      
“Indeed, sir.” Dyson very nearly smiled. It was possible that the promise of extra men was more enticing than anything else the captain could have offered him.

      
“We'll use the launch and the long boat. Get the crews ready, and appoint a lieutenant and a midshipman to each.”

      
Dyson touched his hat before turning to attend to his duties. Seasoned hands, trim from months at sea; just what was needed to bring
Vigilant
up to scratch.
 

*****

      
Lewis watched them go. He knew from experience that the ship would remain hove to for some while, and nothing would be required of him during that time. He had noted the noon sight, and now was fairly sure of the ship's exact position. He placed his journal safely inside his jacket and pulled out a little grey book that he always kept in his trouser pocket. The young gentlemen and master's mates were still puzzling over their calculations, and he guessed that any assistance from him would not be welcomed. Instead he swung himself down the quarterdeck ladder and strode along the waist towards the forecastle. Once there, in his own territory, he selected a convenient corner next to a knee and settled himself down to read. The thin pages of the book were almost learnt by heart now, but he read them through again, his mouth moving slightly with each word.

      
In battle, able seaman Lewis worked the flexible rammer on number three gun, lower battery. At twenty-four Lewis had been at sea for nine years, the last two in
Vigilant
. During his time he'd seen action at Toulon with Hood, and had been in numerous minor scraps, before the ship was transferred to the Channel Fleet and just missed out on the Glorious First of June. Most notably he had been one of a prize crew, sent to take a merchant ship back to Gibraltar and all but taken by her former company, who'd had other ideas.

      
Besides working the rammer, and his various other duties, Lewis was being trained up; in fact he would shortly be leaving number three gun, his mess and the lower deck. It was a change he had won for himself, not with youth and strength, but with his inherent thirst for knowledge, and natural affinity with numbers.

      
It had come about nine months back, when he was on the middle watch. At the time he had been part of the afterguard and, as the night was quiet, they had been stood down. Lewis lay on his back next to the mizzen braces, watching the stars through the shrouds. He noticed the constellation immediately next to one of the yards, and tried to see if it moved as
Vigilant
crept through the night. Of course, even without the swaying of the ship, the change would have been impossible to detect, but several nights later he found himself in the same position, and looking as before. To his disappointment the constellation lay in what seemed to be exactly the same position. Lewis felt cheated, cross that an observation so carefully taken should have let him down.

      
At that moment a midshipman had come on deck and began experimenting with his quadrant. Lewis watched him for a moment before crossing over and asking permission to speak. He mentioned his observations to the young man; it was King, one of the better mid's and Lewis had been lucky. Rather than scorn his ignorance, he had listened, before explaining a little about the accuracy of the instruments they used. This led to Lewis's first holding of a quadrant, and it had been a natural step for King to talk more about navigation, and finally lend him some books on the subject.

      
To Lewis, reading had always come naturally, but he still found the book difficult to follow. He had more questions and King, recognising genuine curiosity, was patient in answering them. He then drew Lewis's interest to the attention of the sailing master, who sent for him one evening during the second dogwatch.

      
The interview had been formal and, as it was the first time Lewis had stood in an officer's cabin, rather stilted.

      
“I understand you've been asking questions about navigation?”

      
The master surveyed him with a savage, almost angry stare. Lewis stiffened, and looked straight ahead over the older man's shoulder.

      
“Sir, I was interested in the stars. Mr King gave me some help.”

      
“Yes, and a copy of Norrie's
Epitome of Navigation
.”

      
“Sir.”

      
“Have you read it?”

      
“Yes, sir.”

      
“All of it?”

      
“Yes, sir.”

      
“And what have you learnt?”

      
“A bit. Some of it's confusing.”

      
“Some?”

      
“Sir. Most of it; all at first, but I'm getting the way of things gradual.”

      
“What learning have you?”

      
“Three years reading and figures, then I was working as a clerk, sir. That was before I joined a collier. I was with the RN three year, sir in
Aratus
. Then did two tricks in an Indiaman 'fore joining
Vigilant
.”

      
For the first time the master's expression relaxed.

      
“You make it sound like you had choice in the matter.” Humble had gone to the trouble of checking Lewis's entry in the muster books: he was a pressed man.

      
“Sir?”

      
“Never mind. And never mind about not understanding the book. I have officers who have been studying Norrie for twelve month an’ more, and still make a tangle of it.”

      
It was a remark that worried Lewis. He was being given a glimpse of a world where he did not belong. The fact that it had happened without his making gave no comfort, and he silently cursed King for peaching on him.

      
“Tell me the use of an azimuth compass.” Humble's attitude had returned to that of an inquisitor.

      
“Taking bearings, sir.”

      
“Bearings of what?”

      
“Stars, sir. 'though I seen it being used for other things.”

      
“Quite. And a quadrant?”

      
Lewis swallowed. Either the master was involving him in some private joke, or King had got into trouble for lending him the book. Whatever, the only thing a lower deck man could do when an officer asked a question was answer it.

      
“It measures the angle of the sun, or a star.” He was about to say “celestial body”, but he had only read the word, and was not certain of the pronunciation. He continued rather lamely. “Or anything in the sky.”

      
“Against what?”

      
“Against the horizon, sir.” The last word was swallowed, as he realised he had missed it out before.

      
“Yes?”

      
“And once you know that, sir, you can work out where you are.”