By the Knife Read online

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so.’

  Joseph smiled. ‘Mum will love that,’ he said.

  As the estuary became wider Tom steered the barge towards a warship anchored in the roads. Joseph patted David on the shoulder. ‘Come on mainsail,’ he said. As Tom loosed the main sheet they brailed the big mainsail back up to the sprit and then lowered once again the starboard leeboard. Tom jigged the barge across wind and tide until turning into both they came alongside the warship.

  Lines were thrown as men climbed down onto the barge’s deck and by the time the boys had stowed all sail, the hatches were off and unloading started.

  There seemed to be a vast mass of people on the ship; they swarmed all over the deck and into the rigging. Men worked aloft at dizzy heights, whilst through the open gun ports others called and laughed. Also through the gun ports David gazed at the great guns tethered to eye bolts in the deck.

  ‘Twenty-four pounders,’ Joseph informed him. ‘She’s a sixty-four; that means she’s a sixty-four-gun ship of the line.’

  ‘How many people?’ David asked.

  ‘Around 400,’ was the reply. ‘She’s bound for the Indian colonies.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘It’s a secret.’ Joseph grinned. ‘So I heard it in the tavern last night.’

  The unloading went quickly and by the time the tide turned the barge was almost out. They ate some bread and cheese and then it was time to get underway once again. It was topsail, mizzen, foresail and then let go the ship. The leeboards were dropped and mainsail set. This time they had to work upriver against the wind, but once clear of Harwich they had a beam reach up to Mistley. Dropping the anchor they sculled ashore and walked up to the cottage.

  To David’s great embarrassment his mother insisted that he recount all the day’s happenings and encouraged by his Aunt Molly he was made to talk for almost an hour of his experiences. To make matters worse his third cousin Beatrice had returned from staying with friends and sat beside him all the while.

  Beatrice was only two years older than David and David thought her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

  Next morning David slept late and by the time his mother called him down, the men had long gone to the barge.

  Once more he cringed with embarrassment as his mother fussed around bringing bread and milk. David badly wanted to be like his cousins and thought Tom would think the worst of him for sleeping in.

  As the women worked in the kitchen, there was a banging at the door. The man who stood there thrust a letter into Molly’s hand.

  ‘Came on last night’s coach,’ he said, and walked away.

  Everybody stood around the kitchen table and stared at the letter until Aunt Molly passed it to David and asked, ‘Who’s it from?’

  Turning it over David told her, ‘It’s from somebody called Hammond and Jarvis for Uncle Tom.’ Aunt Molly put it on the mantel and went back to work.

  As the day started to darken into evening, Tom and Joseph came into the cottage. Straightaway Aunt Molly brought the letter and put it into Tom’s hand.

  ‘Came on yesterday’s coach,’ she said.

  All stood round in silence and watched as Tom broke the seal and spread out the paper.

  After looking at it for some time Tom gave it back to his wife who said, ‘David reads better than me,’ and passed it on.

  Going closer to the candle on the kitchen table David read. ‘Dear Captain Thatcher, I regret to inform you of the death of one Arthur Woodman, the master of your sailing barge Ruby Ann, which vessel lies on the trots below Dutchman’s Wharf having discharged her cargo. Your son Daniel remains in change of said vessel. I would request your earliest instructions as to the arrangements for the deceased and for the vessel.

  ‘I remain your obedient servant, Mathew Hobbs, Messrs Hammond and Jarvis, Dock Street, London.’

  Aunt Molly said, ‘Heaven help us. Tom, whatever has happened?’

  All eyes turned to Tom who took the letter and folding it carefully put it in his pocket. Putting his pipe in his mouth, he said, ‘I’m going to London.’

  First light the next day saw the cottage a hive of activity. Molly packed a bag whilst David’s mother prepared food for the trip.

  Joseph ran off to borrow a horse and cart to take them to the Ipswich crossroads, there to await the London coach.

  After long discussions the previous evening and against Tom’s wishes, it had been decided that David would accompany Tom to London.

  ‘There will be important papers to read, Tom,’ Aunt Molly had insisted.

  Once all was ready they had to stand outside in the garden whilst Tom took money from a secret place and then they were off in the cart to arrive in time to catch the coach. Tom sat inside whilst David sat on top to guard the bag. As they set off for Colchester, David reflected on the fact that this was the same coach that had killed his father.

  London, when they arrived, was like nothing David had ever imagined. The size of the buildings, the seeming thousands of people and horses. Everybody seemed to be going somewhere in a great hurry and the smell was amazing. The coach stopped outside a large inn and as David climbed down, struggling with the bag, people almost trampled him underfoot.

  David was exhausted and hungry. They had eaten only the food his mother had put up for them and slept on the floor of the coach, Tom saying he would not pay the prices at the various inns.

  Now as he followed Tom through the narrow streets, he staggered under the weight of the bag. They passed a huge fort or castle in the distance, white in the grey light, and then descended into a lane that steadily got steeper and poorer. At last he could see the river at the bottom of the hill. Ships’ spars stood tall above the rundown buildings as they turned into a tavern at the corner of lane and wharf.

  David collapsed onto a bench against the tavern wall and dropped the bag under the table. A big fat man came across to them and Tom ordered stew and light beer.

  ‘Watch the bag,’ Tom said, and walked out onto the wharf. He soon returned. ‘Skiff’s ashore,’ he said. ‘The boy is here somewhere.’

  The food arrived and David woofed it down in short order, drank his beer and laid his head back against the wall. He was just about to doze off when a tall young man, who looked a lot like Joseph, flung himself down onto the bench beside him.

  ‘Hello, Pa,’ the boy said. ‘I thought you would come.’

  Tom looked up. ‘Who else would I send? What’s all this about?’

  The boy leaned towards his father. ‘Arthur cut to pieces in the tavern yard,’ he said and then with a big grin, ‘By a boy whore.’

  ‘Enough,’ Tom hissed. ‘We’ll board the barge and sort out in the morning.’

  As they climbed down into the boat Daniel asked, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m David, your cousin.’

  ‘You’re the school teacher’s son?’

  ‘Yes, he’s dead.’

  After a short pause Daniel asked, ‘How did he die?’

  ‘Run down by a coach,’ David answered.

  Daniel looked puzzled. ‘Was he deaf?’ David didn’t bother to reply.

  The next morning they sculled ashore and leaving Daniel to watch the skiff, Tom and David walked along the offloading wharfs to Dock Street. Wagons loaded with all manner of goods maintained a near continuous traffic to and from the ships. All was noise and seeming confusion.

  The offices of Hammond and Jarvis were found in an archway halfway up Dock Street. A small man, behind an overloaded desk, asked them their business and on being told ushered them into a larger office at the rear.

  There they were greeted by a bald-headed man in a greatcoat. ‘Captain Thatcher,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Mr. Hobbs,’ Tom replied.

  ‘Please be seated.’ Hobbs indicated a chair in front of his desk. David stood at Tom’s shoulder. ‘A sad business,’ he began. ‘We have had a Captain Darcy of the guard here. He will want to talk to you, I’m sure, but to business. Yo
ur cargo made a good market.’ He passed a parcel of documents across. ‘Please give my regards to Squire Morton.’ Tom glanced at the figures at the end of the upper document and stowed the package in his coat. ‘Here I have our account.’ He passed a second document. ‘And of course this.’ He handed a third paper across. Tom looked at it with suspicion and gave it to David.

  Reading quickly David said, ‘It’s an account for the burial of Arthur Woodman, Uncle Tom, for six pounds fourteen shillings and sixpence.’

  ‘I would appreciate immediate settlement,’ Mr. Hobbs announced.

  Tom stared at him, slowly turning red in the face.

  ‘It had to be done, sir,’ Mr. Hobbs said. ‘Now if you would kindly settle, I think that concludes our business.’

  Tom got to his feet and reaching into his pocket dropped some coins onto the desk.

  ‘Thank you, Captain.’ Hobbs rang a little bell and when the man from the outer office appeared said, ‘Please give Captain Thatcher change for six pounds fourteen shillings and sixpence and a receipt on his way out. Good day to you, Captain.’

  When they reached the street Tom spat into the gutter and then set off at a brisk pace towards the barge. Daniel sat outside the tavern with his feet up on a table.

  ‘On your feet, boy,’ Tom bellowed. ‘We’ve a barge to take away.’

  The skiff was raised, the gear set and the barge was swinging away downriver in record time.

  Once all was stowed Daniel asked David what had upset Tom.

  ‘He had to pay for Arthur’s burial,’ David replied.

  Daniel grinned. ‘That will do it,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think he likes me,’ David added.

  Once again the big grin. ‘Don’t worry; he doesn’t like anybody.’

  The breeze dropped away at dusk and, the tide being against them, Tom anchored the barge and then went down into the cabin. David and Daniel sat on the main horse and listened to the sounds around them.

  The mud made a popping sound as the tide covered it, seals barked in the distance and a bird of some kind made a strange tweeting sound.

  Four hours later the breeze came back and Tom took the barge through the maze of sands in the pitch dark.

  The following morning the wind was strong from the northeast and the barge made good time to Harwich. As they entered the roads, through the back channel, a frigate came away from Harwich quay. She set her topgallants as she crossed the barge’s bow and bore away for the Knock. David stood in awe; he had never seen anything so beautiful.

  Tom watched the young lad’s face and smiled for the first time since leaving London.

  Two days after they returned, Tom announced that he had to visit the squire and to David’s surprise that the boy would accompany him.

  They set out, David in his best shirt with his golden locks brushed back and Tom wearing his blue coat. During the walk from the village Tom became almost friendly, talking about ships and the life in the navy. He described battles and faraway places. David wondered if Tom had ever seen these places but said nothing.

  The manor house was large and set back in wooded grounds, not unlike the manor at Upper Ashton.

  To David’s surprise Tom walked up to the front door and rang the bell instead of going round to the servants’ entrance. After a few moments the door was opened by a liveried footman who, without a word, stepped back and let them enter.

  The hallway they walked through was hung with paintings of sea battles; a quadrant stood on a small table along with other oddments of maritime ware.

  The footman knocked on a door and on hearing a bellow from within led them into a large room lined with books.

  A short, fat, red-faced man stood up from a chair at one end of the room. ‘Tom,’ he called in a loud voice. ‘How was the market?’

  ‘Good, Squire,’ Tom replied, holding out the package he had received in London.

  The squire lurched across the room, limping heavily. He snatched the package and opening it as he went turned back towards his chair.

  ‘Yes, yes, good, a good market, Tom,’ he said. ‘Who’s the boy?’ Tom pushed David forward and said, ‘My nephew, Squire, a fine boy sadly lost of a father this past month.’

  The squire picked up a decanter and glass, poured some port and swigged it back.

  ‘Another mouth to feed, Tom.’ He smiled. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He loves the navy, Squire. When he watches the ships turn away, his heart is fit to burst.’

  ‘The navy, you say.’ For the first time the squire looked at David.

  David in turn looked at Tom; he didn’t remember saying he loved the navy.

  ‘So what can you give the navy, boy?’ the squire asked.

  ‘He reads and writes like a champion,’ Tom said, ‘and at figures he’s a marvel.’

  ‘Figures,’ the squire muttered. ‘Here.’ He thrust the open package at David. ‘What is written there?’

  ‘One thousand, six hundred and twenty-seven pounds,’ the boy replied.

  ‘Divide it by three,’ the squire ordered.

  David thought for a moment and then said, ‘Five hundred and forty-two pounds six shillings and sixpence.’

  The squire looked at Tom. ‘Is it?’ he asked. Tom looked away pretending not to have heard.

  The squire changed the subject. ‘What about that other business, Tom?’ he demanded.

  ‘Coming along, Squire, when there’s a full moon,’ Tom told him.

  Squire Morton turned back to his port saying, ‘I’ll write for the boy.’ He waved his hand and Tom and David left.

  As they walked back down the lane, David tried to remember if he had spoken about the navy or if he was interested in the navy. He remembered the frigate they had watched turn away from Harwich; perhaps he was.

  For the next month David tried hard to be like his cousins. He burned the palms of his hands on the brails and cordage on the barges, learnt to splice and row, and became a reasonable sculler. They went wild fowling with Tom’s old musket and David became a fair shot. Sometimes they sat in the tavern on Harwich quay and listened to the seamen talk. David was surprised when his cousins made a point of asking him to read something. When there was nothing else, they would have him write their names on the bar slate and all the customers would listen as he read them out. It slowly dawned on him that his cousins were proud of him; the feeling of warmth almost made him choke.

  One evening as the light began to fade, David and Daniel walked back to the cottage. When they arrived Joseph and Beatrice were sitting in the garden. David, who had been staring open-mouthed at the wench, realized there was a lot of shouting coming from inside the cottage.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

  The girl smiled at him. ‘A letter came and you’re going to be a midshipman in the navy, David.’

  David’s mother and Aunt Molly finally stopped shouting at Tom long after the candles had been lit. Supper was then eaten in stony silence. David’s mother kept holding his hand, much to his embarrassment in front of Beatrice. Asked whether he really wanted to join the navy, David thought it unmanly to say no, so he said yes. This brought forth more tears from the women of the house but a nice smile from Beatrice.

  The time moved quickly from then on. They visited the squire, where the old man told of his life in the navy and gave David his old midshipman’s dirk. A day was spent in Harwich buying white shirts and britches, a chest, some stockings, black shoes with buckles and a blue coat.

  Aunt Molly gave the bill for four pounds twelve shillings to Tom who bit hard on his pipe but said nothing. Then suddenly they were standing at the crossroads waiting for the coach that would take David to Deptford where lay the fourth rate Eagle, a frigate of twenty-eight guns commanded by the squire’s friend Captain Saunders.

  The Thatcher family all waved David off. Tom had warned him to sleep in the coach and save money, but Aunt Molly gave him a purse and said sleep at the inns and eat well. His cousins slapped his b
ack, his mother cried and Beatrice gave him a kiss, which he would remember for some time. As the coach pulled away the little crowd waved and David felt suddenly very lonely and, he had to admit, a little afraid.

  Deptford was as noisy as David remembered London to be. He struggled along the wharf with his chest, looking for anything that might point him towards a frigate. People pushed past him and all seemed to be in a great hurry. He asked a smartly dressed young man for the Eagle, but the man just waved a hand in the direction of the river and walked off.

  He was then approached by a scruffy-looking man who said, ‘The Eagle was it, sir, that you were looking for? Let me help.’

  He had just grabbed David’s sea chest when a voice from behind David said, ‘That’s good, my man, you can take this one as well.’ A tall young man of around seventeen years pushed a sea chest into the man’s hands. ‘Call us a boat,’ he ordered. Turning to David he said, ‘Michael James Phelps, midshipman HMS Eagle. I presume you are joining.’

  David nodded his head. ‘Yes,’ he managed.

  ‘Good,’ said Phelps. ‘We can share a boat. You have to watch these wasters.’ As they descended the stone steps to the boat the man had called alongside, David studied his new companion. His clothes were a perfect fit and of very good quality. His hair, cut to the collar, was styled and he had a fine sword on his hip. His voice had tones of quality and education.

  Phelps threw the man on the wharf a few coins as the boat pulled away and set off downriver. As they came out from under the counter of a large merchantman, the boatman said, ‘There she is, sirs.’

  David fell in love at his first sight of HMS Eagle. The ship shone in the weak sunlight. From her towering spars to transom and beak head, she looked clean and deadly.

  ‘Three years old,’ Phelps told him, ‘and just out of the yard after her first scrap and paint. The old man spends a fortune on her. By the by, what’s your name?’

  ‘Fletcher,’ David said. ‘David Fletcher.’

  Grinning, Phelps said, ‘Well, Fletcher, welcome to the best frigate in His Majesty’s navy. By the way, do you know the sword?’

  David shook his head. ‘No, but I would love to learn.’