Chapter 1: Involuntary Volunteer

Shaldon, June 1795

The Honourable William Parker-Edwards was looking down from his dais at the tall youngster who stood before him in shackles. Will Potter had never caused trouble before in his 16 years of age. He was a ship chandler’s apprentice with Master Warren, who had given testimony for him. Yet, the case was decided before the assizes even convened, for young Will Potter had beaten up the son of Walter Prentiss, a large landowner and businessman. The quarrel was over a girl and young Prentiss had been the first to swing at his rival, but Potter had hit back and broken his opponent’s jaw and nose.

It went against the judge’s grain to convict a young man for defending himself against a ruffian — and the younger Prentiss was known as such — but he could not ignore the pressure from the older Prentiss who demanded young Potter be flogged and jailed. He was not certain however if the jury would follow him, for the resentment against the Prentiss family was wide spread.

Then again, the judge had another option, for war with France was declared, and the Royal Navy needed any man it could get. Just now, HM sloop Serpent (16) was lying at anchor in the roads off the shore, and her First Lieutenant, Mister Barker, was attending the proceedings, ready to collect any convict who came his way. Parker-Edwards cleared his throat.

“William Potter, you stand accused of vicious battery against Mister Edwin Prentiss, having injured him greatly and without just cause. A conviction that I have no doubt this jury of honest men will hand down to you would see you flogged severely and sent to Bodmin Prison for a year, with hard labour added. Be still!” he thundered at the young man who was opening his mouth. “I am not finished. Given the deathly threat His Majesty’s dominions are facing by the forces of the Godless new French government and seeing how the Royal Navy alone is standing between them and our homes and families, I offer you to volunteer for service in the Royal Navy. Here is Mister Barker of the Serpent sloop. Sign up with him, and be forgiven your misdeeds. ‘Tis an honourable way out for you and one that will benefit King and Country.”

William “Will” Potter was barely believing his own ears. Yes, he had beaten up Prentiss when the rotten scoundrel had grabbed Will’s girlfriend Eve, but on the day after, Will learned that Eve had turned against him, claiming that she welcomed Prentiss’s interest and that Will was not really her friend. He was in a pickle to be sure, and to be offered a way out of the almost certain flogging was a great surprise. Therefore, he quickly nodded his assent, not daring to speak up for fear of ruining his chance.

The judge nodded at the lieutenant. “Mister Barker, kindly enlist the man. No need to give him hand money.”

Prentiss shot up from the spectator bench, but the judge held up his hand. “Hold your peace, Mister Prentiss. The county must meet its quota of volunteers. If you rather wish to volunteer your son...?”

Prentiss sat down quickly and the judge banged the gavel.

“Next case!” he ordered, whilst young Will Potter was delivered into Mister Barker’s care.

Barker looked the young man over. “Come, you!” he ordered, leading the way outside.

There was a boatswain sitting in the shade under a tree who jumped up when his First Lieutenant emerged from the assize building.

“A volunteer, Mister Penryn,” he announced, leaving Will with the warrant officer who grinned.

“Sit down there, but stand when Mister Barker comes out again. What trade did you learn, lad?”

“Ship chandler’s apprentice, umh ... Sir?”

Penryn grinned. “I work for my pay. Call me Mister Penryn!”

“Aye, Mister Penryn?” Will answered, unsure of himself.

“Easy, lad! You haven’t been read in yet. So, ship chandler’s apprentice, huh? I bet Mister Evans can use you.”

“Umh, Mister Penryn, who is Mister Evans?”

“Purser. You can become purser’s steward over time. Not a bad job, it is. The Tars will be right friendly to you seeing how you’ll dole out the rum. Just don’t you forget old Timothy Penryn,” he ended with a grin. “So you volunteered, huh?”

“Yes. I sort of beat up an alderman’s son. He’s a scoundrel, but his father wanted me in prison.”

“Judge offered you a way out, huh?”

Will nodded.

“Lucky you! Judge could’ve convicted you first, have you flogged, and then volunteered you,” Penryn opined.

“Maybe so, Mister Penryn,” Will sighed.

Will was standing with another three volunteers, young men like himself, and with another fifteen convicts from the last three days of the assizes. They were looking up from the waist of the sloop and to the quarter deck. There stood the Master and Commander, Mister Elijah Brooke, a weathered man in his mid-forties, with grey hair but amazingly lively blue eyes.

“Landsmen! You are entering an honourable service today. Once entered into the muster roll, you are a part of this ship’s company and expected to do your duties cheerfully and bravely, be it in a gale or be it in the face of the enemy. I will now read to you the Articles of War, as laid down by their Lordships Executing the Office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain.

“Article One. All commanders, captains, and officers, in or belonging to any of His Majesty’s ships or vessels of war,...”

Commander Brooke thus proceeded to read the Articles of War, all 35 of them. Will stood there with the other recruits, trying to listen and understand what was said. It was a long list of possible misdeeds, and the punishment for most was death, and where not the punishment was often even more fearsome, such as severe floggings. Will actually shivered a little hearing all this.

He was used to corporal punishment, having grown up in an orphanage until being apprenticed at age ten. He had been lucky then, for Master Warren was a gruff but good-natured master. Yet, even good Master Warren at times saw fit to administer a beating to his apprentice, for the various infractions the young boy was apt to commit. Yet, the worst Master Warren ever doled out as punishment paled in comparison to the mildest punishment listed by the Articles.

Commander Brooke was now coming to the end.

“Article 35. All other crimes not capital committed by any person or persons in the fleet, which are not mentioned in this act, or for which no punishment is hereby directed to be inflicted, shall be punished by the laws and customs in such cases used at sea.

“Having been read the Articles of War, you are now members of this good ship’s company. Listen well to the officers and warrant officers when they give you orders and obey them cheerfully, and nothing bad will befall you! You will now be de-loused and given proper clothes, and then meet your mess mates who will help you to fit in. Dismiss!”

Several warrant officers descended on the recruits, and they were ordered to strip naked. Their heads and their pubes were shorn bare. Then a deck wash pump was rigged — Will recognised it as something Master Warren had in stock — and four recruits had to man it. Then each of them had to step under the cold water with a brimstone and scrub himself clean. Naked, bald, wet and shivering, they were then led for’rard where a small man in an officer’s coat was squinting at them.

“Who of you is Will Potter, ship chandler’s apprentice?”

Will stepped forward quickly. “Sir!” he blurted, standing stock-still.

The officer nodded. “You’re a tall one. Put on pants, a shirt and a jacket from the left pile there, then help me!”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” Will managed to say before he went to the pile of clothes and quickly put on a shirt (threadbare), pants (patched but clean) and a jacket (patched and bleached). He then stood at attention before the man.

“I am Mister Evans, the purser. I’ll give you a try as my helper. Now give each man a bundle of clothes as I tell you, from tall to medium and small,” he ordered, pointing at the piles from left to right.

“Aye, aye, Sir!” Will hurried to say.

“You’re a volunteer?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good. Get a medium kit for this man!”

For the next ten minutes, he helped his new superior to hand out clothes and other items — their kit — to the recruits. When they were finished, warrant officers picked men and went off with them to show them their stations. Evans gave Will a nod.

“Now get yourself two kits from the bottom of the pile and put those rags back. You stepped in the clover, Potter. Just see to it that you follow my orders and don’t disappoint me.”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” Will hurried to answer, dropping his clothes and picking two bundles from the bottom. Those were the same items, only fairly new. The shirts were really new and warm on his skin. “Thank you, Sir!” he offered.

Evans nodded benevolently. “Now, let’s bring those kits back to the storage. Then I’ll show you your first tasks.”

His first day in the Navy was a busy one. He had to hand out the provisions for the noon meal to the cook’s mate, learned how to handle the big balance, and afterwards how to pick choice pieces of salt meat for the captain and the wardroom. The stewards gave him measured nods when they stood to receive the goods for their masters, and one of them, the wardroom steward Mackeray, told him that they would share their mess with him. Unconcerned with the presence of the purser, Mackeray then asked for extra helpings for their own noon meal. Will briefly glanced at his superior who nodded quietly.

Will learned that as the youngest member of their mess, he was responsible for picking up their food at the galley, for the stewards were busy with serving their masters. Will realised that his was a privileged position in the ship nonetheless, for he could pick his own food.

After a hurried noon meal, Will followed Mister Evans down into the hold of the sloop. As a ship chandler’s apprentice, Will had seen a few ships’ holds before, and he did not feel out of place too much. He learned where the purser’s stores were located and how they were secured against the rolling of the ship. This was new to Will, for the chandler’s shop stood on solid ground, but the principles of stowing made sense to him.

Late afternoon came, and the purser and his new helper had a very important task to fulfil. Mister Evans showed Will how to prepare the Grog by mixing three parts water, a tenth part of lime juice and one part of rum for the evening Tot, the evening rum ration for the men. It was also Will’s task to dole out the rations — a quart per man — as the hands stood in line to receive it.

As the one doling it out, Will was the last to receive his tot. He tried it, not having any experience with ardent spirits for Master Warren was very much against them. It was not much to his liking, but it served to cover the taste of the stale water that came from the casks. With his mess mates, he sat drinking the Grog and eating the last of his hardtack allowance. The wardroom steward showed him how to knock the hardtack against the deck to chase out the weevils which had to be collected as feed for the chickens that Commander Brooke kept on board for his eggs and sometimes his Sunday dinners.

After supper, the purser had Will bring up the hardtack rations for the next morning before he was allowed to turn in. He and the stewards shared a small chamber next to the sick bay, on the lower deck, where they slung their hammocks in two tiers. Being the youngest, Will had his hammock in the lower tier where it was colder if less smelly.

Will was dead tired after the day, but he still lay awake for some time thinking of Eve and her treason. It was bitter for him, even though he knew that her father, Robert Wicklow, the keeper of the Ferry Inn, was behind her change of heart. The man never liked Will, and he would be a willing tool for the Prentiss family. Will began to dream of the future, of perhaps returning one day, his pockets full of prize money. He was a volunteer after all. If he learned the trade of a purser, he might become a purser himself one day and be called “Mister Potter”. From Master Warren, Will also knew that some pursers became quite wealthy in their positions. So in his semi-waking dream, Will returned as a well-to-do gentleman to confront his wayward girlfriend with her poor choices.

In his current reality, he was roused before the crack of dawn by the shrilling of the boatswains’ pipes. With his mess mates, he rolled out of his hammock. Somebody lighted a tallow lamp, and in its dim shine they rolled up their hammocks before rushing to their stations. Will almost lost his way in the darkness, but the wardroom steward grabbed him and dragged him along.

He managed to be waiting at the store room before Mister Evans appeared.

“Good morning, Sir,” Will greeted his superior who seemed to be less than awake.

“Mornin’, Potter,” came the grumbled answer and Will resolved to be silent until his superior’s mood bettered. “There’s more stores comin’ aboard t’day, meat casks mos’ly,” Evans mumbled between yawns. “Have to move the older casks first. My compliments to the officer of the watch, an’ we’ll need a work party of eight to haul up the casks.”

Will could not resist. “May I ask why, Sir?”

“No, God dammit! Lemme have a coffee first. Mackeray! Where are you lazy bastard? Coffee!”

Fortunately, Mackeray appeared in just this moment with a steaming cup of coffee which Evans gulped down in just a minute.

“Ah! Better!” he exhaled. “More, Mackeray! Now, my lad, to answer your question, meat stored in salt brine lasts about a year. Of course, we never wait until the hold is empty before we get new casks. What, pray, will happen if we put the new casks down on top of the old ones?”

Will thought briefly, a little surprised at the change of mood of his superior. He had learned his trade though, and the answer was simple enough.

“They’ll never get used, Sir, and they’ll spoil.”

“Good lad! So, before the new casks get delivered, we hoist up the old ones, put the new ones at the bottom, and the older ones on top, oldest first.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Will answered, understanding the principle.

“Have to teach you the trade, my lad. Now, what happens on a long voyage, when we hoist up one of the last casks and the meats are rotten?”

Will nodded. “The Captain gets upset, Sir.”

Evans even laughed now. “And God beware that ever happens! So, my lad, get me a work party.”

When the dawn turned into a bright morning, they were hard at work. Fifteen fifty-gallon casks had to be hoisted up and stood on the deck. Mister Evans collected the ship’s surgeon, Mister McSwain, and together they inspected the casks, opening them and smelling at the brine and the meats. Whilst inspecting the seventh cask, the two gentlemen wagged their heads and Evans waved at Will to come closer.

“Now, my chandler’s lad, what is your learned opinion of this piece of ... whatever it once was?”

Will looked at the piece of meat and and sniffed carefully. It was rotten. He smelled the brine too as Master Warren had once taught him.

“Sir, the brine is too thin and now the meat is rotting.”

Evans looked at the surgeon. “Picked a winner, I did.” He turned to Will. “Can you write, lad?”

“Yes, Sir. Master Warren sent me to the Sunday school.”

“Excellent. Go and heat a poker in the galley fire until it glows. Then burn the word “Rotten” deep into the side of the barrel. Deep, you hear, or those rascals at the Victualling Yard will plane it off and give the barrel to some other poor idiot. Shoo!”

Will scampered down to the galley and told the cook of his purpose. Fifteen minutes later, he burned the letters deeply into the side of the offending barrel, to the amusement of other warrant officers. Even the First Lieutenant came to inspect drawn by the smell, and he chuckled seeing Will’s handiwork.

“He’s a sly one, is our Mister Evans.”

The clerk from the victualling yard was less enthusiastic, but even he had to concede that the contents were not fit for human consumption. The lighter unloaded another cask to replace the rotten one, and the offending cask was unceremoniously emptied over the side. Will then had to climb down into the hold and direct the stowing of the new casks first, followed by the older ones until the section earmarked for meat casks was crammed to capacity. The numbers of the casks were carefully entered into the Victualling Book, together with the date, as a reference for later. Will was very impressed with his superior’s diligence and he said that much to his messmates.

“Evans’s an honest one. Most pursers, they don’t give a damn ‘bout the rot in the casks. Some, they buy rotten casks at cheaper price and pocket the difference. Not Evans. Best food I ever had,” the gunroom steward opined, which told a lot for he was an old hand, a former topman grown too old for the work aloft, and now looking after the “young gentlemen” — the midshipmen and master’s mates.

As if to reinforce that point, Mister Evans gave Will a first lesson in the accounting side that afternoon. The Navy paid a shilling per day for each rating, for food, drink and clothing, and the purser had to make the best use of that money whilst turning in a profit, for pursers received little pay. It was simply assumed that they would split the difference and make up for the poor pay. Evans explained to Will what to look for to get enough and good enough food whilst saving money.

Then, on the next morning, HM sloop Serpent weighed anchor. In the small ship, every man had to help with the manoeuvre, and Will found himself with the twelve Marines and some other idlers pushing a capstan bar to winch up the anchor cable. It was back-breaking work for the men, and Will cheered with the others when the anchor broke from the ground.

“Anchor cable up and down!” a junior midshipman squeaked from the forecastle, and the men were fairly running around the capstan now, heaving up the anchor.

Up in the rigging, the topmen unfurled the topsails, and Will had to help on deck heaving the braces. He was a raw recruit and had to be told where to go and which way to heave, but he was strong already for his age. Still, a knotted rope wielded by a bosun’s mate — the starter — hit his back twice, to give him better direction.

Once the topsails were set, the topmen rushed further up to unfurl the topgallant sails, and again those had to be braced properly. Will followed the lead of an able seaman to the correct place and heaved when told so. This time, the bosun’s mate did not see the need to wield the starter.

Over all these frantic efforts, Will almost missed the actual process of the sloop going to sea. When he finally had the time to look around, the shoreline looked distant already, and the small man o’ war was hit by the first waves of the English Channel. Around Will, men’s faces turned green and the bosun’s mates used the starters to direct the seasick recruits to the lee side. Whilst a number of recruits — landsmen in Navy parlay — were leaning over the lee side railing heaving their hearts out, Will felt only a little queasiness which disappeared quickly when Mister Evans collected his helper for the morning’s work. Hard work was the best way to distract Will from feeling sick, and he spent the entire morning attending to the various tasks Mister Evans found, and by noon time he even felt hungry again and wolfed down part of his hardtack allowance together with a lump of cheese.

As the helper of the purser, Will was not part of a watch, meaning that he would be worked all day but had the night off. Yet, if all hands were called for manoeuvres at night, he had to fill in as a deck hand together with all the other “idlers”. That happened a lot during the first days as the small ship was beating up against the wind to reach Plymouth. It was a welcome sound to hear the anchor cable rushing out. From his mess mates who heard a lot of gossip whilst attending their duties as stewards, he had already picked up the news that they were headed for the South Sea, escorting three ships that carried convicts to Botany Bay, as they had done for three years already. Will shivered a little thinking that he could be one of those wretched people transported half way around the world — that was how Mackeray had told it — to a penal colony, never to return. He, at least, might see England again.