Chapter 23: And A Hero’s Welcome

November in the English Channel was cold, with gusty winds, and Will felt the cold in his barely healed wounds. Still, like every Morning and Afternoon Watches, he forced himself to walk the deck, trying to regain his strength after lying in his cot for almost two weeks. His hip was better now, but his left arm was still almost useless. The musket ball, deflected by the swivel gun breech, had been flattened and had carved a deep groove into his upper arm. For now, the arm was strapped tightly to his torso.

At least, he was on his feet, he could eat at the wardroom table, and he could use the privy without help. Also, the attention he received was waning now, after three days of strolling the decks. That excluded the three marines from the maintop who invariably timed their own presence on deck to see him walk. Seaman Jeremies — no, he was Able Seaman Jeremies now — was with them too, but they would soon be off the sick list. Jeremies would not work aloft for another while, with the splinter wound in his shoulder barely healed, but things were turning to normal.

Except for Victory, still flying Nelson’s flag at half mast, and transporting his body home for a proper burial in London. What filtered through to the wardroom, it would be the largest funeral since the passing of the second King George. Thinking of that, Will barely suppressed a shrug — which would have been painful — and reasoned that it was better to be welcomed by three than mourned by thousands.

The outlandish idea of him receiving some sort of decoration had gained some momentum, though. Endorsed by Captain Laforey, Lt. Col. Whittaker and even by Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, the recommendation was a small part of the vast number of reports sent home to the Admiralty, but Laforey had made certain to send copies to Sir Algernon and to the Third Sea Lord, Lord Garlies.

Will had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, it would mean a huge upheaval for him and Abigail. On the other hand, receiving some sort of tangible distinction might translate into a plum posting in the Victualling Board, leaving him in England with Abigail and the children. That would indeed be worth a little discomfort.

He had not received any new letters from Abigail since the one he sent from his sickbed. Her last letters had just been the normal fare. The kids were growing, Clyde had visited Belle, Elizabeth Wilson’s shop was flourishing, and Abigail was busy in her dual roles as mistress of the house and helping their neighbour by purchasing the needed cloths and accessories. It was a peaceful life, and Will, now more than ever, wanted to be a permanent part of it.

The sound of the ship’s bell sounding eight bells tore Will from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Treleven relieve Bill Royce as officer of the watch whilst the crews also changed. It was an organised chaos for about five minutes, but then the watch-free sailors retired below decks to enjoy their noon meal of lentil soup with salted pork. They had not stored enough peas before the battle, and now their lentil stores were being used, not that the hands grumbled over it.

Slowly and carefully, Will walked aft on the upper gundeck until he reached the wardroom. The table was laid already and most members present, except for Pendragon Jones, the chaplain, who appeared shortly after.

“Wilcox is over his fever,” he announced happily, and the whole wardroom smiled with approval. Pen had really done his utmost for the wounded, and now the last critical case, Landsman Wilcox, seemed to be over the worst of his injuries.

“Excellent, Mister Jones, and your tireless work in the sickbay is recognised,” Clephan smiled at the Welshman.

“Hear, hear!” Chancer added. “My lads appreciate your care, Reverend; yours, too of course, Mister Shaw!”

“We all appreciated Pen over the last weeks,” Shaw grinned back. “The Jacks also say their thanks to Will here, for the extra rum rations.”

“I can clear it with the victualling yard,” Will shrugged. “They won’t look too sharply at my Victualling Book after what we achieved.”

“Damn right!” Porter exclaimed. “Boney’s Army of England can rot away in Boulogne now.”

“Maybe they’ll try those Montgolfierès to cross the Channel,” Gérard sniggered, causing a round of laughter.

“Yes, we are quite safe at the moment, but Boney isn’t beaten yet,” Clephan remarked.

“Well, we of the Navy did our part. Now it’s time for the Army to earn their keep.”

“I watched them in Egypt. They can give Boney a licking, too,” Will defended his former allies.

“Yes, they did well there,” Chancer agreed. “Yet, it’ll take more than our Army to defeat the French. Those damn Austrians can’t seem to achieve anything. All those archdukes and princes, but not a single Prince Eugene amongst them.”

“We must find our Marlborough, too,” Gérard added, and Will resolved to look up those names in his encyclopaedia.

All too soon, they had to return to their duties. Will sat at the wardroom table, filling the Victualling Book with the latest numbers. One of the newest meat casks, delievered by the supply ships off Cadiz, had sprung a bad leak, and the meats inside were not salvagable after being exposed to air for two weeks or more. It had to be written off, and Will would need counter signatures from the surgeon and the 1st lieutenant for verification.

Bread was getting scarce, too, but Will hoped to reach Portsmouth in less than a day, alleviating the shortness of provisions. He did not expect to keep Spartiate with his lack of seniority, and it was better if there were few provisions for which to account. He might get the Odin back, but then again, now would be the time to vie for work at a victualling yard.

It was almost noon, when the victorious ships of Nelson’s fleet entered Portsmouth harbour and cast anchors. Church bells were tolling from all sides, and soon, boats filled with civilian wellwishers cast off from the shore and surrounded the ships. Bottles with wines and spirits were offered to the crews. The badly mauled Victory, Royal Sovereign and Belleisle received the most attention, but Spartiate got her share of admirers, too. One fellow, a wherryman, climbed up her bow and placed a flower wreath over the helmet of the Spartan warrior that was the ship’s figurehead. Where he got the flowers in November would remain his secret, for he jumped back down into the wherry and headed for the next ship.

Some wellwishers even came aboard, shaking the hands of sailors, soldiers and officers alike. Many of them looked like prosperous citizens to judge from their clothing, but some of the women looked as if they had their own mercenary interests at heart as they sidled up to the crew members.

Captain Laforey realised that short of having the marines form a line with planted bajonets, there was no way to control the exuberant “boarders”, and he simply gave orders to guard the companionways and the quarterdeck.

Another pair of women entered through the port, and now Will was limping forward as fast as he could.

“Abby!”

Being faster on her legs, Abigail reached him quickly and then he felt her arms gently encircling him, quite mindful of his fresh wounds.

“Oh, Will, you’re back and you’re alive! My love, my hero, you’ve returned!”

Will could do nothing but pat her back gently with his right hand.

“My sweet Abby! Yes, I’m back. No bloody Dago could keep me from coming back to you!”

She stepped back and eyed him. “They came close to it, didn’t they?”

“Not really. Just my arm and my hip, and I only need one arm to hug you.”

Belle Barker, who had accompanied Abigail, made use of the short interruption.

“Welcome back, Will. You had all of us worried.”

“Thank you, Belle. Is Clyde doing well?”

“After the news of the battle broke, he celebrated so fiercely, he had a week of headaches.”

“Better than two weeks of wound pains, believe me!” Will laughed, but then he noticed that the eyes of half the men on deck were on them. “Let me introduce you!”

He led them aft where Captain Laforey lookked at them curiously.

“Sir, may I introduce my wife Abigail? Accompanying her is Mistress Belle Barker, the wife of Captain Barker, of the Camilla post-ship.”

“Enchanted, Madams. Captain Francis Laforey, of the Spartiate. Welcome aboard.”

Abigail and Belle performed credible curtseys, and Belle, the seasoned salon dweller, spoke up.

“May we be the first Englishwomen to offer you our felicitations for your resounding victory, Captain? England is grateful to you, your officers and crew!”

“Yes, indeed, you are the first, and I thank you for the gracious greeting!” Laforey answered, not to be outdone. “I trust your husband is well?”

“He was in port last week, and he drank so much to your health that I feared for his own wellbeing, and I assure you that he was not alone in that noble quest.”

“Perhaps it was owed to his zeal that all our wounded recovered over the last week?” Will offered.

“As good an explanation as any. Sadly, I must bid my farewell and report to the Commander in Chief. Please enjoy the hospitality of my ship!”

When Laforey had retreated to his cabin to change his coat, James Clephan approached them. “The table is laid in the wardroom. Will, will you allow us to host the ladies?”

There was no way to say “no” for Will, and therefore he led Abigail and Belle aft and into the wardroom, where indeed the table was richly laid. Will quickly effected the introductions, taking extra care to introduce Pendragon Jones and Dougal Shaw as his good friends and partners at board games and cards. Hungry looks were directed at both women, and Will himself was unable to look anywhere but in Abigail’s eyes.

“Well, our Will does like women,” Adam Porter observed. “He was never telling tall stories about his conquests, so we were unsure.”

“Well, you know how the saying goes: those who do don’t have to talk,” Gérard quipped, causing Porter to blush and the rest to guffaw, making Abigail blush prettily.

“So true,” Clephan nodded. “Here’s to another reason to envy Will! He is a man of great taste, not just in wines and foods, but also in the lovely young lady he won for his wife.”

Of course, there was no way for Will to accompany Abigail and Belle to their house, but he had to pay a call at the victualling yard, and with Clephan’s permission, he took them along in the sideboat and dropped them off at the pier. Of course, once on solid ground again, Abigail expressed her joy about his return one more time, causing much mirth amongst the boat crew.

Gabriel, the cox’n, could not keep quiet on the way over to the yard.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mister Potter, Sir, but wasn’t you starting afore the mast like us?”

Will had to laugh. “Aye, t’was my lucky day when old Justice Parker-Edwards made me volunteer. Didn’t know it then, but it was.”

The oarsmen nodded sagely, knowing about the reasons for volunteering, being all volunteers themselves.

“What’d you do Sir, begging your pardon?”

“Beat up the lout that was pestering my girl,” Will grinned with the memory. “Problem was, his father owned some land, and I was just an orphaned merchant’s apprentice.”

“Aye, that would do it, Sir,” Gabriel nodded. “That’s how you got into the purser’s trade, right?”

“Landsman, seaman, purser’s steward, captain’s clerk, purser. That’s my story.”

“Mister Webling was no tar, Sir. Not a bad man at all, but he’d been raised a young gentleman.”

“Well, he left everything to me in excellent order, and none of you lads looked starved. That should be good enough,” Will grinned. “All right, here we are. Lads, hold the boat steady if you want to keep me as purser!”

He still had some problems balancing with his sore hip, but the men helped him up and to the quay of the victualling yard. Checking the seat of his coat and his necktie first, Will headed for the commissioner’s office. Inside, he was greeted by his neighbour and acquaintance Albert Barton, the senior clerk for Mister Davenport.

“Welcome back to Portsmouth, my dear Potter! I trust your battle wounds are not too painful?”

“I’m getting better, Mister Barton. I’m still in one piece, and that has to be good enough.”

“You have your reports and book with you?”

Will handed over the envelope and the Victualling Book. “Yes, I thought it best to visit before the rest of my brethren will arrive.”

“Mister Thornwell, kindly examine Spartiate’s documents, and let’s not be overly picky today. Mister Potter was wounded and needs no aggravation.”

A clerk stood from his desk and and almost reverently took over Will’s documents.

“Now, Thornwell should be finished shortly, but let me show you to Mister Davenport. He wants to see you urgently.”

With that, Will was led before the commissioner who had, five and a half years ago, given him his warrant.

“Sir, Mister Potter came to hand over his book and Spartiate’s papers,” Barton announced.

To Will’s utter amazement, Davenport almost jumped up from his chair and rushed around his huge oaken desk to shake Will’s hand almost violently, fortunately the right one.

“My dear Mister Potter! It is good to see you recovered from your wounds. Word about your gallant conduct already came down from London, and of course, Mister Barton had already spoken to Mistress Potter. The Victualling Board is proud of you! Things are in motion as we speak to give you the recognition you so richly deserve. We’ve never had an officer of the Victualling service decorated with a medal for bravery before, but things look good. How are you coping with your wounds, pray?”

“Thank you, Sir. You are very kind,” Will replied politely. “The left arm still gives me trouble, but I was able to tend to my duties for the last six days.”

“Brave man! There is another thing we should discuss, one that will not need the First Lord’s approval. We have other good news. Our good Mister Barton will be appointed Victualling Board Commissioner at Falmouth, in recognition of his long and dedicated service.”

Will turned dutifully and smiled at Barton. “My heartfelt felicitations, Mister Barton. I trust that you are delighted over this distinction.”

Barton smiled. “Oh, yes. It’s a bit far away, but it’s a lively port and supplies some of the detached squadrons of the Channel Fleet.”

“Well, to make a long story short, Mister Potter, seeing that you will need time to recover from your wounds and that you already have roots here in Portsmouth, I would like for you to join my office. I well remember the excellent service you rendered in Plymouth, and it’s men like you that we need here. I can appoint you as my personal assistant at first, which won’t ruffle feathers around here, but in effect, you would take over Mister Barton’s responsibilities over time. Of course, the pay will be commensurate with the greater responsibilities you will have here. Would you be interested at all?”

Will thought only briefly. He had hoped to snag a clerk position on the permanent staff somewhere in England, but this was Portsmouth, the largest Navy station of all, and he would answer to Davenport directly. It was a daunting task, to be sure, but nothing he could not learn to guess from his last stint at the Plymouth office. He would miss the cameradery of the wardroom, even the excitement of shipboard life, but he would come home to Abigail every night and would see his children growing up. He would eat fresh food cooked by Abigail, drink fresh Ale, and he would have access to books and newspapers. He smiled when he answered.

“It would make me proud to be found worthy of such a position of trust, Sir! I already assumed that I am too junior to remain as Spartiate’s purser.”

“Yes, there was some grumbling from pursers seeking employment,” Barton remarked with a grin.

“Except for that one unfortunate time in Dido you received excellent evaluations from all your captains, and that counts more than seniority for me,” Davenport shrugged. “Still, I believe your talents and your dedication to duty will be of even better use here. Will Spartiate need lengthy repairs?”

Will shook his head. There was little damage to the hull, and the upper works could be repaired without a dry dock.

“Some carpenter’s work to the upper decks, but not much. The standing rigging needs a lot of work after three years at sea. I should guess, two or three weeks, Sir.”

“Fine. That gives us time to find a good replacement for you. How would you like to join my office per January 1st?”

“I should like that fine, Sir. I’ll need civilian coats and new shirts, but my neighbour is a seamstress. Are there other things I might need, Sir?”

“Nothing comes to mind, but do get your best uniform coat spruced up, too, for when you’ll get your medal,” Davenport answered with a smile. “Now, let us toast Mister Barton and you. Pollock!”

Davenport’s office factotum appeared immediately. He was an older man, one-armed and haggard, and quite obviously a Navy veteran.

“We shall have some brandy, Pollock. This is Mister William Potter, currently the purser in the Spartiate third-rate. He will join this office after New Year.”

“Welcome aboard, Sir,” the man Pollock grinned. “You’ve been a salty, Sir?”

“I have been known to heave at the braces, mostly during my first two voyages,” Will smiled easily. “What ships did you sail?”

“Temeraire and the old Agamemnon, Sir.”

“Fine ships, Pollock. Agamemnon sailed in the windward column with us at Trafalgar.”

“Thank you, Sir. I better get that brandy now.”

“Interesting man Pollock is,” Davenport relayed after Pollock had disappeared. “I picked him as my valet some ten years ago. He once saved my life, and he’ll have food and board for as long as I live.”

Pollock was back quickly, and the three men toasted their new arrangments with well aged brandy. Will was instructed to close his accounts with the Victualling Board and prepare for somebody to relieve him. Seizing the moment, Will then bade his farewell.

Outside Davenport’s private office, he found Mister Thornwell, the clerk, who handed back the Victualling Book and declared himself satisfied with all expenditures. Once he left the building, Will headed back to the victualling quay and found the sideboat waiting.

“Spartiate, Gabriel!” he ordered with a little regret. He would miss the men and the ship.

The last days in Spartiate fairly flew along. With the help of his steward Holbow, Will catalogued the supplies still in the hold. Knowing that he would not need it anymore, Will and Holbow also opened the slop chest to sell everything at lowered prices, with Holbow receiving half the earnings for his able handling of the supplies after the battle when Will had been laid up.

On December 6, a Friday, Mister Emanuel Hawthorne reported to Spartiate, appointed as Will’s successor by the Victualling Board. He was easily twenty years Will’s senior in age, but only five as a purser, having spent his earlier years as a ship chandler before joining the Navy. The two men easily found an accord, and within four hours, Will and Hawthorne reported to Captain Laforey for the final signatures in the Victualling Book.

The captain offered his hand for the farewell, going out of his way to praise Will’s conduct as a purser, but also as a warrant officer. Of course, he had to have one last dinner in the wardroom where he was presented with a beautiful wooden model of HMS Spartiate, which Mister Kruger, the ship’s carpenter had built. First wines and then spirits were flowing freely, and two volunteers from the Royal Marines detachment had to see Will to his house, where a dismayed and surprised Abigail undressed him and deposited him safely in their bed.

For the next weeks, Will became used to living in a house again. He spent his days resting and perusing the accumulated newspapers, but he also spent time with his children, getting to know them again and regaining their trust. He and Abigail were invited around the neighbourhood. The people had come to know Abigail of course, but Will was a new face for many, and when stories spread about him being a veteran of Trafalgar fame, many people wanted to hear about the battle firsthand.

To his surprise, Will found that he did not enjoy the retelling of what he remembered. Too painful were the images in his head of the wounded and dying men and of the horrible destruction he had seen. Often, he could distract their hosts by speaking about his earlier exploits in the South Sea and in Egypt; those events were less tasking for him to retell.

On Christmas Morning, the entire household, excepting for Clyde Barker who was at sea, attended service at their new parish church, St. Thomas of Canterbury. After that, they enjoyed a fine dinner of goose roast, with carrots and potato mash, covered in a fine gravy. Abigail and her two helpers had outdone themselves, and for once, Betty and Fanny Jones had to sit at table with the rest of the household, with everybody taking turns serving the dishes.

Will was in a fine mood, not just because of the holiday, but also because Parliament hat voted a £300,000 reward for the officers and crews who had fought at Trafalgar. It was only £100 for Will, but nothing to scorn.

Prize monies would take longer to sort out, but Will expected a similar sum of money as his share. He had also got back his certificate of deposit from the Commissioner’s office, freeing up the £1,200 for his use, and his new employment as commissioner’s assistant would yield him £138.12s .6d a year. He was getting rent payments for his Plymouth house as well, and Abigail’s cloth trading was turning in a surplus of over £16. Add to that the £20 from Mister Carver for the lease of the sphinx, and they would lead a comfortable life. With time, they might choose to get a bigger house in a more affluent neighbourhood.

With his increased financial means, Will also contemplated a raise for Betty and Fanny. They had far progressed from being mere chamber and scullery maids, effectively doing most of the cooking these days. Betty had learned Abigail’s recipes well, whilst Fanny was responsible for their grocery shopping and doing it well. Perhaps, hiring another maid for the cleaning would also be advisable. Well, tomorrow would be Boxing Day, a perfect day to announce such plans.

Will had to shake his head, reminiscing about his own youth, being a penniless, bastard orphan, apprenticed to a hard taskmaster. Although he appreciated Master Warren’s lessons and his insistence on Will attending Sunday School, his living circumstances had been miserable and his days had been filled with hard work and harsh discipline. Will spoke a silent vow to model his conduct as Horace’s father on James Evans and never on Joseph Warren.

Returning to the here and now, he cast a loving look at Abigail which was returned with a smile.

“You were in thought, my dear?”

“Yes, darling. I thought about how good we have it now.”

“That is so true. We ought to be grateful for our good fortune.”

“Speak for yourselves, my dears. My husband is still out there in his nutshell, whilst I am spending the holidays alone,” Belle interjected jokingly. “Well, I cannot complain much. He keeps his prize agent quite busy.”

That was true. Clyde Barker, in his small post ship, was catching blockade runners quite regularly. Only two weeks ago, a prize crew from his Camilla had brought in a two-masted brig loaded with 120 tons of wines from the French Dordogne region, worth at least £4,000. Clyde, too, was prospering.

“Let’s drink to Clyde and his Camilla then,” Will proposed with a smile. “A safe return and prize monies galore!”

“As good a toast as any,” Belle nodded and klinked her glass against Will and Abigail’s. “Yet, I’d rather have him back soon.”

In the next morning, at breakfast, Abigail handed out gifts to the girls, new dresses and new shoes. To guess from their smiling faces, they liked them fine. Will had talked to Abigail the evening before and received her blessing for his plans, so he spoke up next.

“You girls have learned a lot over the last years and we are well pleased with you. With that in mind, I’m making you, Fanny, our new cook, and I’ll add two shillings to your weekly pay.”

Fanny’s mouth gaped wide open for a moment until she regained her wits.

“Really, Master Potter? Me, the cook?”

“Yes, Fanny. The Mistress will still give you pointers, but you earned it.”

“Thank you, Mister Potter. You are the best master ever!”

“I am glad that you think so. Betty, you too have done very well, and I can see that you work very hard to keep up with cleaning, washing and buying the groceries. Mistress Potter and I therefore decided to hire a new scullery maid after Christmas. You will teach her the duties and oversee her work, and we think that this will make you our new housekeeper, with two extra shillings each week in your pay.”

If Fanny had been speechless, Betty broke out in tears, grabbing for Abigail’s hand. “You are s-so good to us, you and the master! I-I’ll do my very best, I will!”

“We know you will, Betty,” Abigail soothed her. “We’ll also find a young boy for the firewood, hauling ashes and dumping the wastes. You’ll have to keep him busy, too.”

Betty took a deep breath to suppress the next sobs. “May I still serve the meals?”

“Yes, dear, you may; else we’d miss your friendly face.”

Belle had been let in on the plans, and she spoke up next.

“You took good care of my needs, too, girls, so here are my gifts!”

Shyly, the girls unwrapped the gifts, finding two matching, very finely made, mother-of-pearl combs. They both stammered their thanks whilst clutching these new treasures tightly before fleeing to their chamber with their loot of the day.

“That went very well,” Will opined smugly.

“It was a wonderfull idea to reward them. I feel all tingly myself,” Abigail smiled.

“You two are simply wonderful people,” Belle told them with a wide smile. “And yes, it felt wonderful to see their joy and pride.”

With the holidays over, Will prepared for his new tasks. Elizabeth Wilson had finished his new civilian coats, and now he could pick up his fashionable new hat from the hatter. New shirts had arrived, too, as well as full length trousers. Uniform coats, breeches, stockings and buckled shoes were packed away, and a visit to a barber had left Will with a fashionable, short hair cut whilst the month spent ashore had given him time enough to grow bushy side whiskers, completing his new appearance.

When on January 2, he arrived at the commissioner’s office, he looked every bit like a civil servant of standing. Mister Davenport gave him an approving nod when he arrived fashionably late.

“You certainly look the part now, my dear Mister Potter. I already explained your role in this office to the clerks. It will be your duty to peruse the reports submitted for my attention and countersignature before passing them on to me. Eliminate any errors and then hand them over to me.

“You will also oversee the warehouses and prepare the weekly reckonings there. This will take a rather large part of your time, but it is very important. I believe you did this in Plymouth, too?”

“Yes, Sir. That and disposing of surplus provisions.”

“Well, there is no surplus these days. Anyway, let us start with those tasks and see how you can handle them.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Will answered automatically before catching himself. “I mean, very well, Sir!”

Davenport chuckled. “We shall have you converted to our own diction soon enough, Mister Potter. Just mind that you won’t address Navy officers as ‘Sir’ henceforth; use their rank instead.”

Will nodded dubiously. “That will come hard for me, but I’ll try to remember.”

“Now, there is a desk for you next door to my office where you’ll find the first reports for your scrutinity.”

“Very well, Sir. I shall start to earn my pay.”

It took Will almost two weeks until he was familiar with his new tasks, and he was a very tired man when he arrived at his home, sometimes late in the evenings. A few times, he had not even an appetite when coming home, but he only slaked his thirst with two pints of ale before falling into an exhausted sleep.

By mid-January, things were becoming clearer to his mind, and he learned which tasks to delegate to the clerks and which to pursue himself. That helped quite a lot. He also knew the men in the office and the warehouses better and was able to judge their characters and abilities. Of course, some of the staff and workers thought it a good idea to make use of the new man, but by late January, Will saw through their shenanigans. One troublemaker in the meats warehouse found himself on the street after a hamfisted attempt to shift a few barrels for his own advantage. After that, the workers tread lightly around Will.