Battle Fleet (2007) (17 page)

I remember well overhearing Lord Nelson on the quarterdeck of the
Elephant
, during the Battle of Copenhagen. He seemed to relish the danger. This set a tremendous example to the men aboard his ship, but when I heard him say ‘I would not be elsewhere for thousands’ I thought him strange, as any of us on that
quarterdeck could have been killed at any second.

Robert wasn’t having this. He grasped my arm and spoke fervently. ‘Sam – we’re weeks, maybe days away from being invaded. D’you want to see Emperor Napoleon on the throne? D’you want to see us all speaking French? D’you want our empire to become the French Imperial Empire? Of course you don’t. I can’t think of a better man to lead us than Nelson, even if the fellow is a damned philanderer!’

We both laughed at that. Nelson’s abandonment of his own wife for Lady Emma Hamilton was common knowledge. I was glad Robert mentioned it. Perhaps he wasn’t too starry-eyed about the Admiral.

I took a deep breath. ‘When you join the Navy,’ I said, ‘you have to expect that you might be killed. I also know I’d like to survive this posting! Lord Nelson likes to lead from the front. That’s what makes him the hero he is. All of us on the
Victory
, we’re going to be right there at the front, bearing the brunt of the battle. That’s what serving with Lord Nelson actually means.’

‘
Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori
,’ said Robert. He was making me feel stupid again. ‘It’s Latin. “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”’

‘Do all the middies speak Latin?’ I asked, trying to change the subject. I was anxious about my new comrades-in-arms.

‘Most of them, I expect,’ said Robert. ‘But don’t
worry about that. While they were wiling away the time studying Greek and Latin at Eton or Winchester, you were climbing up the mainmast to set the topsails, or fighting the Spanish. That’s worth a hundred dead languages in this profession.

‘Now, before we go to sea we have an extremely important venture to attend to. We shall call at Fortnum and Mason’s to stock up on supplies! Let’s see if we can fill these chests to the brim.’

This was another unfamiliar luxury. I had never visited this famous shop, but I knew its reputation as a provider of exotic groceries. Robert had been there many times before, and knew exactly what to get. ‘Crystallised peppermints, marmalade fruitcake, anchovy paste, rhubarb and ginger preserve, goose foie gras en gelée, whole baby pears in calvados …’ The assistant went scurrying off to every corner of the shop to locate these delicacies. ‘They’ll all keep for months on end,’ Robert said to me. We also stocked up on horseradish sauce, fruit and nut chutney, lemon curd – anything with a bit of a zing to make our salt meat and ship’s biscuits more bearable.

I returned to my lodgings to settle my bills and gather my belongings. I was severing the ties of my ordinary life and preparing to go to war. I went to see Bel but she was neither at home or at the milliner’s shop. I wrote a hurried note telling her I would let her know when I
would be back in London, and prayed that I would see her again.

Left alone with my thoughts, I wondered why I was doing this. I did not believe God was an Englishman, but I felt in my heart that he would want us to vanquish the tyrant Napoleon. Did I want to die for my country? Robert professed he would be willing to. I ardently hoped I could avoid that fate.

More than that, I was concerned about being found wanting by my fellows and the ship’s crew. I was told that midshipmen called the ordinary sailors ‘the people’, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I wasn’t one of them any more. But would I deserve their respect? Would I be worthy of my rank?

When I had fought before, I had been under threat of execution for showing fear before the enemy. Every move had been watched by marines or officers with the power to shoot me dead if I flinched from my duty. I had also been so frantically busy, ferrying gunpowder from the ship’s hold to the guns, that I had barely time to think. Now I would be the one in command. I would be the one thinking and ordering and the prospect was much more frightening than running around doing my duty.

As we rattled and jolted on the coach to Portsmouth, I took a special pleasure in looking at the late summer
fields, now filling with hay bales as the farm workers gathered in the harvest. I did not know when I would see life on land again, if at all.

At last the spires and mastheads of Portsmouth stood out above the trees and chimney pots. We spent our last night on shore in a tavern and ate a fine pork joint. Next morning we took a supply ship out to the
Victory
. Stepping away from the quayside and on to the bobbing boat, I had a fearful premonition. ‘Let’s pray that we both set foot on land again!’ I said to Robert.

‘And let’s pray that we both fight bravely and bring honour to our ship and our country!’ said Robert. I did find his zealous patriotism a little wearisome. Seeing he expected a response, I raised an imaginary toast: ‘Ship and Country!’

That’s what Richard would have done. He was a master at playing the game. Being a midshipman meant acting a part. Under intense scrutiny from both the officers and the crew, I would be required to wear my patriotism on my sleeve.

It was 20th August and a bright summer morning.
Victory
had been back in England a mere five days after arriving from the Caribbean. Nelson, we were told by the officer of the supply crew, had gone at once to London. The ship’s crew were busy making repairs and entertaining their own visitors aboard ship. ‘It’s not a sight for sensitive souls, Jack Tars enjoying themselves
in harbour, so just prepare yourselves,’ he warned.

I thought it was a great shame that these men were denied the chance of shore leave. They were imprisoned, as I had been in the past, while their officers were allowed to go ashore. I thought to say it, then decided not to. Play the game, Sam. But at that moment, I also could not help feeling a burst of glee. I was now among that number. I would be able to go ashore when the ship arrived in harbour. I had leave.

The fleet was moored at Spithead, the broad stretch of water separating Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. As the boat bobbed towards this great line of ships, I wondered which one was
Victory
. It soon became clear. Approaching from the stern, I was astonished by her size. The mainmast stood taller than a church spire.

The great cabins at her stern rose like a grand three-storey town house, the windows decorated in intricate gold and black. In the past, when entering a Navy ship, I could only wonder what comfort lay behind those windows. Now, I could expect to visit these luxurious oases to dine occasionally with the Captain or the officers. Perhaps Lord Nelson himself would invite the midshipmen to dinner. This change in fortune made me light-headed.

Robert stared up, his admiration written all over his face. ‘They say she cost more than sixty thousand
pounds to build. Seeing her, I can say she’s worth every penny.’

In those moments, before we disembarked, I felt so proud to be boarding this gigantic vessel, and I forgot my misgivings and fears. Country bumpkin Sam Witchall was now a serving officer in one of the Royal Navy’s most famous ships.

The supply boat bumped alongside, and we clambered up the boarding steps to the entry port on the middle gun deck. Our sea chests were winched aboard. Looking around, I could see that 24 pounder cannons stretched either side from the bow down to the officers’ wardroom. A midshipman of similar age to us marched briskly up and introduced himself as William Duffy. ‘Good morning, gentlemen, and welcome to the
Victory
. Captain Hardy is expecting you.’

We vaulted up the companionways to the upper gun deck and then the quarterdeck. I was so busy trying to acquaint myself with the size and magnificence of the ship, I barely noticed the sailors all touching their caps as we walked by. It didn’t feel right, but I would get used to it.

There was another distraction too. Most of the crew were down in the lower gun deck, where there seemed to be some kind of riot going on. The noise was not angry, just boisterous. I could make out the sound of women quarrelling and men cheering and heckling as
they would at a boxing match or cockfight. The smell of stale beer and spirits drifted up with an intensity that almost masked the stink of the bilges and the usual smells of hemp and tar.

Hardy was there in his cabin at the end of the quarterdeck. Whenever I went into the Captain’s cabin of a ship, I was always amazed at the amount of space he was given. Twenty men could probably sleep in these quarters.

An imposing, stubborn-faced man, Hardy was easy to remember. We had met briefly before. He greeted Robert and me politely but formally.

‘So what have we here?’ he said, peering at an Admiralty letter. ‘Neville. You’ve been on the
Elephant
. Did you see action in Copenhagen?’

Robert was about to speak when Hardy turned to me.

‘And you, Witchall. I hear you have a most interesting history.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Did he want me to tell him? Did he know? An awkward silence hung in the air. I felt uncomfortable.

He peered at me. ‘You look familiar. Where have I seen you before?’

‘Copenhagen, sir. I was on the
Elephant
too, and at the oars of the boat you took out to the Danish line.’ I didn’t want to tell him he had been on the court martial that had sentenced me to death. I had hoped he wouldn’t
recognise me at all.

‘Of course you were,’ said Hardy vaguely. ‘I have it on good authority you are both brave and resourceful boys. Neville, you are approaching six years’ service. You will soon be eligible for the Admiralty exam. I hope to see you serving as a lieutenant before long. Witchall, you still have a great deal to learn. Tell me, can you instruct the people in the operation of the guns or small arms?’

‘I’ve been in combat several times, sir,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been a powder boy on the guns and I’ve been a boarder.’

‘And how are you in the sails? Can you be relied on to climb to the main topgallant royal and ensure the topmen perform their duty with spirit?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. What about the sea sciences? How’s your navigation?’

‘I can operate a sextant, sir, and I know my constellations. But I’m anxious to learn more about trigonometry.’

‘That’s what I expected,’ said Hardy. ‘Now’s your chance to catch up. I’ve seen a few fellows from the lower deck blossom into fine officers, and I dare say you’ll be no exception. Enrol with the schoolmaster. He’ll teach you the science you need to navigate a ship. Work hard, Witchall. You’ve got a lot of catching up to do. All the midshipmen your age will know their
navigation backwards.

‘For the moment, I’m assigning you both to Lieutenant Pasco, the flag officer. You will serve on the poop deck and also assist any quarterdeck officers as required.’

That was it. ‘Duffy will show you to your quarters.’

Robert had warned me that the midshipmen’s berth down on the orlop deck would be crowded. But I had paid him no heed. I was used to crowded quarters. In the Navy a seaman had no more than fourteen inches to sling his hammock. The orlop deck might be damp, airless and without any natural light, but very few of the crew slept down there so there was bound to be space.

We passed down the companionways that led us into the belly of the ship. Pausing briefly on the lower gun deck, I took in a scene that my eyes could scarcely believe. Men were staggering almost senselessly drunk whilst others coupled shamelessly with rough women. Two hulking brutes sat either side of a sea chest and were punching each other to kingdom come while others gathered around to egg them on. The spectators’ cries of anger and encouragement left us in no doubt that a lot of money was riding on the outcome of this fight. These were the men I would have to command.

The lower gun deck was just above the waterline and light enough came through open gun ports. But as we continued down we entered the forbidding world of the
orlop deck. Here, below the waves but above the hold, was a maze of passageways, ill-lit dingy cabins and store rooms.

Close by were the quarters of the surgeon and his assistants. Their dark work, I soon learned, was performed on the very table where the midshipmen ate their meals. Amid the other pestilent stinks, the whiff of gunpowder tickled my nose. And the smell of mouldy bread, for the bread room was only a short way from our berth.

Our sea chests had already been delivered and stood one on top of the other by the door to our quarters. There was no one there, which surprised me. ‘They must be on duty or on leave,’ said Robert. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll fill up soon enough.’ Shame, I thought. I was anxious to meet my companions.

‘What do you think of our poop deck posting?’ asked Robert. I could hear the concern in his voice. I preferred him a little uneasy, rather than the jaunty hero he endeavoured to be.

‘I think it’s going to be very interesting,’ I said.

He laughed. ‘I’ll say. But being on the poop is probably better than the quarterdeck. They say the quarterdeck always gets the worst of the enemy musket fire – that’s where the ship’s commanders are, after all. We’re higher up there on the poop and can see across the whole of the weather deck. We’re surrounded by the
hammocks too, so that’ll offer some protection.’

He spoke ruefully. ‘Uniforms are a mixed blessing. The people fear and respect them, but they mark you out to any enemy sniper as someone worth shooting.’

I hadn’t thought of that. This was the first time I had been on a ship in a uniform. Before then I had worn the usual sailor’s slops. I was very proud of my midshipman’s outfit. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be the death of me.

‘Let’s make a pact with ourselves,’ I said. ‘I know we’ve got to present a brave front to the crew and to our fellow middies and officers. But let’s not pretend to be fearless with each other. I shall be as brave as I can, but I’d like to have one friend on this floating ant heap who I can talk to honestly about what I really think.’

He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head. We understood each other.