Preview of Persuaded to Sail #4

Preview of PERSUADED TO SAIL, Chapter 7, Part 1

Greetings, everyone. Jack Caldwell here, jumping about again. Happy Mardi Gras!

You’ll have to wait until PERSUADED TO SAIL is published to see what was in Chapter 6. As for this one, I’m going to break it up for this posting and the next one. It’s an important one, you see.

The first posting may be found HERE, the second one HERE, and the third HERE.

Let’s all come aboard shall we? We start with Anne’s impressions.

From Chapter 7

Portsmouth

THE CAPTAIN OF HMS LACONIA and his lady sat quietly in the captain’s gig as they were rowed to the waiting ship, anchored in Portsmouth Harbor. The day was bright and the waters calm, though there was a gentle breeze. Frederick was in his full-dress uniform, and Anne wore a light blue and white dress. Her bonnet had the same ribbon that adorned the flat straw hats of the gig’s crew. It was Anne’s idea, which pleased her husband a great deal.

The men wore rough but spotless white shirts with buff trousers and navy kerchiefs tied loosely around their necks. Frederick explained that this crew had the only uniforms among the lower deck of the Laconia, and they only wore them for duty like this. Usually sailors wore whatever clothing they could acquire. Officers and marines had official uniforms, of course.

There had been a tremendous difference in the Laconia in a few weeks. What had been ugly and disorderly was now beautiful and pristine. The brass gleamed, the paint was fresh, and the lines and masts were as straight as the edge of a paper. White bundles, which Frederick assured his wife were sails, were wrapped around the yards and masts neatly. The ship also seemed far larger from the perspective of a small rowboat. Glancing at his wife, Frederick saw Anne shared his pride of his command.

“Starboard side, sir?” Mr. Stokes, the boatswain, asked in a hopeful voice.

“Yes,” Frederick returned.

A few minutes later a shout came from the ship. “AHOY! WHAT BOAT IS THAT?”

Mr. Stokes cupped his mouth. “LACONIA!”

Anne turned to Frederick. “I thought the ship was the Laconia.”

“It is, my dear, but so am I. What Stokes means is that this boat carries the Captain of the Laconia.”

Within moments, the gig had pulled alongside the ship. Anne looked up the wall of oak as Mr. Stokes muttered to the boat’s crew to mind the paint. Frederick stood up in the little vessel and seized the accommodation ladder. Anne, forewarned, sat quietly waiting for something called the bosun’s chair. With a grin and wink for his lady, Frederick scampered up the side like a man half his age.

Just before his head reached the deck, the bosun’s mate blew his whistle while another shouted, “LACONIA REPORTING!” As Frederick’s foot touched the deck, there was a crash of musket butts against the planks as the marines gave their salute. As always, he felt a jolt of pride hearing those words.

“Welcome aboard, Captain!”

“Thank you, Mr. Price,” Frederick returned in a level, unemotional voice.

“Pull easy on that bosun’s chair—not a drop, mind!” called Mr. Mumphrey.

Within moments, Mrs. Wentworth rose above the railing, sitting in what she would later call a large garden swing, such as she had enjoyed at Kellynch. The bosun’s mate and Mr. Mumphrey carefully guided Anne to the deck and to her feet.

“There dear, nothing to it,” murmured Frederick to Anne as he took her hand. Anne gave him a sunny smile in return. “Allow me to formally introduce to you my officers. Commander William Price, First Lieutenant, you already know.”

“Good to see you again, ma’am,” Mr. Price smiled back as he took her hand.

“And you, sir.”

“This is Mr. Alexander Mumphrey, Second Lieutenant,” Frederick continued.

A young, heavy-set officer with thinning hair bowed. “Charmed, Mrs. Wentworth.”

As Frederick named his remaining lieutenant and all six midshipmen for his wife, Eades could be heard saying to Radle and Pyke, “Well, I guess we’ll be sayin’ Mass this Sunday for sure, mate.”

Radle grumbled as Mr. Stokes hissed an order. “No talkin’ in the ranks!”

Frederick was finishing. “Lieutenant Greengard, head of our Marine contingent. And this is our surgeon, Doctor Powell.”

“Mrs. Wentworth, how pleasant it will be to have such a civilized presence on board,”

“Thank you, Doctor. I hope I shall be. I shall be most interested in visiting your patients.”

The surgeon smiled. “I am sure they will enjoy your fair presence, madam.”

Frederick frowned. Powell, must you patronize my wife?

Mr. Price, who had been watching the docks, came to his captain’s side. “Sir, there’s a boat just shoved off heading our way. Might be that last passenger.”

Frederick’s expression tightened as he remembered his conversation with Sir Carson. “Thank you, Mr. Price. Mr. Mumphrey, you and Nowak escort Mrs. Wentworth to my cabin. I shall join you later, my dear. Mr. Price, dismiss the men.”

Anne and her escorts went below deck as the crew milled about waiting for the order to set sail.

Pyke stared at the lady for as long as he could.

~~~

Anne and her companions descended a flight of stairs called “the ladder” to the next deck. The space was full of light, for much of it had no ceiling. Anne could see the masts and sails above. Along the walls, numerous small windows were open.

“Mr. Mumphrey, was that a dog I saw on deck?”

“Yes, ma’am. ’Tis Lt. Greengard’s dog. Lucky’s her name. She’s ship’s mascot and the devil on rats, she is.”

“Oh, a very useful animal. That is good to know,” Anne said, pondering the presence of rats on the ship.

“Mrs. Wentworth, seeing as you have never been aboard before, might I be so bold as to explain the ship to you?” asked Mr. Mumphrey.

“That would be very kind.”

“Well, we just left the top deck, which is where the quarterdeck is. This is the gun deck, as you can see.” Lining the sides of the ship were large cannons, pulled tight against the walls, each near a window. Mr. Mumphrey continued. “Six and twenty 18-pounders, ma’am—our main armament.”

Anne looked about, confused. “Excuse me, Mr. Mumphrey, but I was told this ship had thirty-six guns. Was I misinformed?”

The young lieutenant smiled. “Oh, bless you, ma’am—we have thirty-six guns for sure. You must remember the ten 12-pounders above.”

“Oh, I see. Pray what is meant by 18-pounders?”

“Why, that’s the weight of metal it throws—pardon me, I mean the cannonball it shoots weighs eighteen pounds.”

“And a 12-pounder shoots a twelve-pound ball?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Mumphrey, does not an 18-pounder cause more damage to the enemy than a 12-pounder?”

“Oh, yes ma’am—like night and day.”

A wrinkle marred Anne’s brow. “Why the difference? Why not have all 18-pounders?”

Mr. Mumphrey pointed up. “Well, ma’am, the upper deck wouldn’t hold them. The gun itself weighs too much. Besides, heavier guns might make the ship a bit top-heavy.”

Anne pursed her lips. “That sounds like something that should be avoided.”

Mr. Mumphrey shook his head. “It’s not good, that’s for certain. Oh, it wouldn’t cause the barky to capsize, mind, but she wouldn’t be as fast, or as quick in the turns, and that’s almost as bad. Balance is everything to a sailing ship, you see. I’ve seen the captain spend two days together moving cargo in the hold just to pick up a half-knot.”

Anne, amused at the young officer’s rough manner of speaking, nodded. She assumed barky meant the Laconia.

Mr. Mumphrey gestured. “If you step this way, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

The party made its way to the stern of the ship. Before a door stood a marine sentry. “There’s a sentry by the captain’s door night and day—regulations, ma’am,” Mr. Mumphrey explained.

They entered through the door into a space about one-fifth the length of the gun deck. There were several doors lining the walls and the room opened up just before a back wall of windows, allowing the light of the day to flood in.

“Beautiful,” whispered Anne. She could see ships at anchor throughout the port.

“Aye, isn’t it?’ answered Mr. Mumphrey. “We call it the stern gallery. ‘Tis my favorite part of the ship. When the captain invites us for dinner, I always hope I’m facing the gallery. This is where the captain does all of his work—that’s his desk there—and where you will have all your meals.”

He walked over to a door on one side of the room. “This is the door to one of the quarter-galleries. This one is used by the captain for observation. The other one—on the other side—well … that’s the privy, if you pardon me saying so.”

Anne smiled. “That is quite all right, Mr. Mumphrey. What is that under the sheet near the window—I mean stern gallery?”

Mr. Mumphrey had a huge grin. “Nowak, please show the lady.”

The steward walked over to the object and removed the cover.

“A pianoforte?” Anne gasped.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Nowak. “Cap’n had it brought on yesterday. Said it were a surprise.”

“I understand that it belonged to Mrs. Croft, the captain’s sister,” added Mr. Mumphrey. “It’s said it has traveled around the world with Admiral and Mrs. Croft.”

It looked as though it had. It was not a full-sized pianoforte, and it was a bit weather-beaten and faded, but the sight of it almost brought tears to Anne’s eyes. “It is lovely.”

“There’s some music in that case, if you care to take a look,” said the lieutenant.

Anne opened the box. “Oh, my! Beethoven—Handel—Mozart! This is wonderful!” She noticed a note inside.

Dearest Anne,

I hope the enclosed gives you and Frederick as much enjoyment as I have had listening to you play these pieces.

Your loving Godmother,

R.

Anne had placed one hand to her face as she read the note, trying to hold back her tears. The two men seemed embarrassed to witness the private moment. Anne replaced the note in the music box and turned to her companions. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I am all attention now.”

“That’s quite all right, ma’am.” Mr. Mumphrey coughed. “This door leads to your sleeping quarters.”

Anne peeked through the opened door. She saw a small space, wider than it was deep, with her chests along one wall. Against the other were a chair and a low bench. Other than two long canvas bundles, there was nothing else in the room.

“Mr. Mumphrey, I do not understand. You said this was my bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I suppose the bed has not been delivered yet, then.”

“Bed?” He looked in. “Oh! Nowak, rig a cot. Mrs. Wentworth, may I call your attention to those hooks in the overhead deck beams?”

Anne looked up. “Do you refer to those hooks in the ceiling?” At his nod, Anne looked more closely.

She saw two pairs of iron hooks, about six feet apart. The hooks had about three feet between them on the side. She watched as Nowak hung a type of hanging cot from one pair. The cot was about six feet long and three feet wide and held a thin mattress within. It had short canvas walls held up by slim wooden stays. The entire contraption was suspended from the hooks by stout ropes. A second cot remained on the floor.

“You’ll find the cots offer the best sleep possible in all weathers,” Mr. Mumphrey claimed. “I never sleep well on land anymore. I miss my cot.”

“I am sure, Mr. Mumphrey,” Anne managed. All she noticed was that each cot could not possibly hold two people.

Since the wedding, the only time Frederick had not shared her bed was during his brief trip to London. She found she liked his presence close by; liked it exceedingly. Sophy had mentioned that she and the Admiral had shared a double bed on their voyages, and Anne expected the same. Apparently, Frederick felt otherwise.

I must not be missish. I am sure Frederick has very good reasons. He is the captain—I am sure he must keep up appearances before the crew. I am sharing his bedroom, if not his bed.

But we are to be some time at sea—months. Are we not to enjoy each other? She bit her lip. I will not be a source of embarrassment to Frederick. At least I shall be near him. I will see him every day. I shall be a good wife and companion.

“Mrs. Wentworth? Should you like some privacy?” asked Mr. Mumphrey.

“No, I am quite at leisure. I like my accommodations very well.” She shook her head and painted on a smile. “Shall we see the rest of the ship?”

Part 2 next time. Go get your ashes tomorrow.

Until then, this has been the Cajun Cheesehead Chronicles.

It takes a real man to write historical romance, so let me tell you a story…