Chapter 3: Heir

Plymouth, May 1799

For the first days after their arrival, the crew was busy replacing damaged rigging, washing the sails in freshwater on the shore, applying paint and generally cleaning up the ship. Assisted by work parties, Mister Evans and Will also sorted through the remaining provisions. Not much was left, and what was, would be used up during the time at anchor.

Only warrant officers and volunteers were given shore leave, and most of the crew, being pressed into the service, had to stay in the ship. It was crucial to keep those men busy and in good humour. Ale was doled out instead of the usual grog, but the men could also spend their meagre monies when bum boats came alongside, selling all sorts of merchandise. Also, after one week, the “wives” were allowed on board as ordered by an Admiralty that wanted to appease the pressed sailors. Any woman claiming a husband on board was allowed in the ship, and no questions were asked. The watch officers had their hands full preventing quarrels over women and locking away violent drunks.

After eight days at anchor, Will asked for leave to visit Horace Trent’s family and bring them his last letter and the collected monies. After an admonishment to stay away from the whorehouses, Mister Evans saw to it that Will was given a seven-day leave. He also advanced what Horace’s pay up to his death would have been, £4 11s, or sixpence for each day he had served in the Serpent.

He soon found out that there was no regular coach connecting Tavistock to Plymouth, but a steady stream of mule-driven wagons travelled the route to transport the copper ore that was mined near Tavistock to Plymouth. Indeed, he found a mule driver willing to take him along, and the empty wagon made decent time to the small town. The driver, Ned Brewer, told him all there was to know about Tavistock, its past greatness due to the tin mining and cloth trade, and the Russell family, the Dukes of Bedford, who were now developing copper mining, and there was even talk of connecting the River Tavy by canal to the River Tamar. To this, Ned was opposed as it would take his livelihood away.

By evening, Ned dropped Will off in front of the Tin Plate inn in the heart of Tavistock, where he found a bed in a shared bedroom and a good supper of fresh pork, vegetables and fresh potatoes. He also had three pints of the local ale, and accordingly, he slept well in spite of the lumpy straw mattress.

Come the morning, he was awoken by the sounds from the kitchens, but also by the crows of the roosters, rather than a boatswain’s pipe, and he found the common room. He was served thin ale and freshly baked bread — a heavenly treat after years of eating hardtack, and he inquired about the shop of Albert Trent, the merchant. He dressed in his good pants, a fresh shirt, and his blue reefer’s jacket, put on his straw hat, and set out for Market Road. Trent was a cloth merchant as Will saw when he entered the small shop. An elderly man looked up and rose from behind a table.

“Good morning! How may I help you?”

“Are you Albert Trent?”

“Indeed I am, young man.”

Will produced the letter from his breast pocket.

“I am Purser’s Steward Will Potter, of the Serpent sloop, and Horace Trent was my shipmate and friend, Sir. He asked me to bring you and his sister this letter and his possessions. He died off Java, Sir, after being wounded in a boarding fight. I am very sorry.”

The older man sunk down on a chair.

“Horace is dead, too? Wounded? Oh, dear! How can I break this news to poor Abby? He was her all.”

“Ho-horace spoke of her and of you, and he said how much he loved you both,” Will said haltingly.

“You were his friend, Mister ... Potter?”

“Yes, Sir. In a small ship, the lines between ranks are not as strict. I’m an orphan, too, and we found common ground. I’m no mister either.”

“Whom were you fighting, and where’s Java?”

“We were returning from New South Wales, sailing around the northern coast of Australia, through Timor Strait and south of Java, about a quarter of the way back to England, when our convoy was attacked by pirates. Serpent had to protect the convoy, and we met the first pirate ships broadside to broadside. We sank them both, but from the second boat, a few of the pirates climbed up our sides, and we had to repel them. Well, we killed them all. Horace got stuck in the belly with a knife. He lived for another five days, but then the gangrene and the fever killed him. I was with him a lot in those days, and he made me write this letter and I had to promise him to bring it to you and his sister.”

“And you did, bless your honest soul! Oh, mercy! I must tell Abby. Will you stay in town or have you to return today?”

“I have a week’s pass, but I have things to do in Plymouth, too. I can stay another night, though.”

“That would be kind. I fear, you’ll have to retell the story to Abby. Can we at least invite you to have supper with us? That way we can show our gratitude, and Abby will have a chance to ask you what questions she may have.”

“I’d be honoured by the invitation. I’m lodging in the Tin Plate. If there is a change of plan, send me a note there. I have Horace’s sea chest outside, with all his things; and I brought his purse, too.”

Will handed the small purse to the merchant who accepted it with a shake of his head.

“We haven’t received our back pay yet, but the purser advanced what pay he was owed. We also auctioned off his belongings to the crew, yielding a sum of £18 16s. It’s in the purse, too.”

Albert Trent sighed. “I shall put it aside for Abby’s dowry, and I thank you for all the trouble through which you went.”

“No need to thank me; I only did what I promised to my friend.”

“We’ll sup at six o’clock. Now, if you will excuse me, I must tell Abigail about her brother’s death.”

“Of course, Master Trent. Please tell her that I am very sorry for her loss.”

With that, Will left the small shop. Outside, he looked around to find his bearings, and then headed across the Market Place to the old parish church. Will had not been to church for over four years, and the Serpent had no chaplain assigned, and on a whim, he entered the church and looked around. It was a sunny day, and the coloured, high windows behind the altar shone beautifully. He wandered along the nave, looking at the high, arched ceiling, when he heard footsteps behind him and turned. An old man in a priest’s frock smiled at him.

“Are you new to Tavistock, my son?”

“Yes, Reverend,” Will answered. “I’m visiting; well, I had to give bad tidings to the family of a shipmate.”

“Oh, dear! Another one lost at sea? May I ask who it was?”

“Yes, Reverend, it was Mister Horace Trent, Midshipman. He died of his wounds after we beat off pirates in the Java Sea.”

“Oh, the poor Trents! First the parents, and now young Horace! Poor Abigail will be devastated. We must have a service in his memory. Will you be staying longer, Mister...?”

“Potter, Reverend, Purser’s Steward Will Potter. Master Trent invited me to share supper, so that Miss Abigail can ask me questions, so I shall stay over night.”

“May I ask you to attend Morning Service before you leave? I should like to speak about young Horace, and it would be fitting if you would be kind enough to tell us about his service for the King. I shall ask the Trents for their assent, of course.”

Will had to swallow. “I don’t know. I’m not used to speechifying.”

The priest smiled. “That won’t be necessary, my son. Just say a few words about him, what he did on board your ship, and how he came to his end.”

“I guess I can do that, Reverend.”

“Thank you, my son. Please kneel, son!”

Obediently, Will knelt and felt the Priest’s hand on his head.

“I bless thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit! May the Good Lord hold his hand over you and protect you whilst you brave the waves and whilst you fight the King’s enemies, and return you safely to your home! Amen.”

“Amen!” Will answered.

“Now go in peace, my son! Morning Service will start at seven o’clock, or rather, six bells,” the priest said with a smile.

Will took his leave then and left the church, wandering through the streets of what looked to be a prosperous town. Tavistock was closely tied to the Russell family, the Dukes of Bedford. As he learned from a loquacious barber, the heirs apparent of the Dukes even held the courtesy title ‘Marquess of Tavistock’. They owned most of the mining, and in recent years and with the Royal Navy ships being fitted with copper sheeting, the copper mines had become extremely profitable.

The barber not only gave Will the complete history of the Russells, but he shaved off the blonde fuzz from Will’s upper lip and around his chin and, using a scissors, gave his long hair a much needed trim.

There was a fashion store of sorts in the town centre, and Will bought a fancy tie for his queue and a fine, white cotton shirt. He returned to his inn where he stowed his new finery securely away before enjoying a small pastry and a glass of ale in the common room.

He was about finished and enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee — a rare luxury for young Will — when the door of the common room opened and a young maiden entered. She looked about the dimly lit room until she saw Will, and then stepped up to his table. He rose immediately, for he already knew who the maiden was.

“Will Potter?” she asked in a melodious voice that was in stark contrast to the sadness of her facial expression.

“Miss Trent?”

She nodded. “Yes. My uncle allowed me to seek you out so that I may ask you all the questions I have.”

“Hrhm, yes, of course,” Will stammered. “Do you wish for anything? A lemonade or...”

She shook her head, and he noticed that her hair was of a rich chestnut colour.

“I mustn’t sit here in the common room. It would be improper.”

“Oh, of course ... I didn’t...”Will mumbled, completely flustered. “P-perhaps we m-might stroll?”

“Yes, that would be good, unless you haven’t finished?”

“Oh, I’m done.” He hastily emptied the coffee mug and stood. From a peg on the wall behind him, he picked up his straw hat and offered his arm to the maid, feeling embarrassed and silly. Nevertheless, Miss Trent accepted, and together they stepped through the door and into the sunlight.

“Uncle Albert said you were Horace’s friend?” she queried as they walked along the street.

“I was one of the first to meet him on the quay in Plymouth, but we became friends during a shared leave at Funchal. Oh, that’s the main port of Madeira where we stopped.”

“That’s where the wine is coming from, right?”

“Yes, I guess. Well, we had shore leave, and Horace, he knew some Portuguese, helping us out and even teaching us some. So we got to know him a bit better. He’d been awfully shy at the start, but he got over it, and we became friends. He’d tell me about you and about his uncle, and that he wanted to become an officer so that he could look after you...”

He stopped, fearing that he’d gone too far, but she just shook her head sadly.

“Yes, I know. He had those grand plans to be a lieutenant soon and then captain, winning prize money and then setting me up with a big dowry. That wasn’t really going to happen soon, right?”

Will sighed. “Well, no. He was rated as a landsman, and he needed two years at sea to become even a real midshipman. Then it takes another three years and an exam to get a commission. At least, that’s what I picked up from the talk of the wardroom members. Captain? Not even Captain Brooke is a post captain, just a commander, and he’s over thirty.”

“That’s what I thought. I’d have been an old spinster before his plans would have come to fruition,” she said with a sad smile. “Poor Horace! He should have stayed here and helped Uncle Albert, or found work with the Duke’s estate. He was such a dear boy, and I truly loved him, but he was a dreamer, not a doer.”

“That wouldn’t have helped him in a business either,” Will opined, to which the girl nodded.

“True that, but here, we could’ve helped him and prodded him along. Here, no pirate would’ve stabbed him either. The thought of gentle Horace fighting is so absurd!”

“Well, from what I heard from the lads who saw him, he fought bravely and he bested his adversary, but then a second savage attacked him from the side.” Will lied, trying to protect his friend’s honour.

The girl’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

Will nodded, continuing to spin the yarn. “He also helped a shipmate who was about to be slain. The lads have him in good memory, Miss.”

“Oh, dear! I shouldn’t have doubted him,” she said dejectedly.

“Miss, nobody can predict how a man will hold up in a fight. Me, I was used to brawling as a lad, swinging wildly and going mad. I couldn’t see myself standing on a deck and directing the carronade fire. Yet, when I had to, I did. If it’s one thing I learned, it’s that fighting is unpredictable.”

She nodded, with her head low, obviously trying to digest what he had said, but then she looked up.

“You are very kind, Will Potter. Uncle told me that you are visiting us during your short leave. We are grateful to you. At least we know now that Horace had a true friend.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Miss Trent.”

“Will you call me Abigail, please? I don’t really rate as a Miss.”

“I can do that, if you in turn call me Will?”

“So tell me, Will, how were Horace’s last days? I need to know.”

Haltingly, Will told her of the injury, the poor prospects, the inevitable onset of the gangrene, and the merciful hallucinations towards the end. Abigail held on to his arm and sobbed quietly when he ended, and with his left hand, he fished for his kerchief, grateful that he’d picked a fresh one that morning, and offered it to her. She dabbed her eyes quietly, before looking up to him with reddened eyes.

“Thank you, Will. Thank you for telling me everything. Will you sail for the South Sea again?”

“It looks like it,” Will sighed. “Those prison transports must be protected. The carpenter says that after the next journey, Serpent will need a big repair, so I may get more shore time then. On the other hand, the purser and his steward stay with the ship whilst she is being repaired, same as the boatswain, the gunner and the master and their mates. I guess I’ll find out,” Will said with a short laugh.

“Should you ever come to Tavistock again, don’t forget to call on us, Will!” Abigail said earnestly, looking at him with her greenish eyes.

“If you will welcome me, I shall come and visit for sure, Abigail,” Will answered with the same serious tone of voice.

She sighed. “I had better return home and start preparing the supper. You will join us, will you?”

“If you’ll still have me, of course,” Will stated, more than a little smitten by the maid. “Umh, I was in church and ran into the Reverend. He asked me my business, and I told him about Horace. He wants to...”

“Yes, we know. It is kind of you to speak about Horace at the service tomorrow. Many people here knew him and liked him.”

“I only hope that I shan’t make a hash of. I’m not used to speechifying.”

“Just tell them about Horace as you knew him. I’ll also speak up at service. Uncle’s too much in the doldrums about Horace.”

“Horace spoke about that. You’ll have to fill in for him?”

She shrugged. “Likely. He’s a good and honest man, but prone to dark thoughts.”

“There are those,” Will agreed. “You don’t have it easy, Abigail.”

She shrugged again. “It’s how it is. Complaining surely won’t help me.”

They were directing their steps back to the town centre. Suddenly, Abigail turned to her left to face Will.

“Have you a sweetheart, Will Potter?”

Will shrugged. “I thought I had one. Eve Wicklow was ... well, is her name. When I got into trouble protecting her, she turned against me. That’s how I came to volunteer for the Navy; the Justice let me choose between the Navy and a year in the prison with a flogging to boot. Her father was against me, too, me being a lowly ship chandler’s apprentice and a penniless orphan. I guess things didn’t turn out too bad for me. I like it in the Navy, and I may even become a purser myself one day. Then I’ll be a warrant officer and berth in the wardroom with the officers.”

“What is she doing now, your former friend?”

Will shrugged. “I never returned to Shaldon. I might just run into Edwin Prentiss again and get into trouble. No need for that when I can make something of myself.”

Abigail pressed his arm. “She was stupid, turning against you. I’ve only spoken to you for a little over an hour, and I already know that she mucked up her life losing you. I’ll be sixteen in a month. When in two years you’ll still be looking for a sweetheart, come to Tavistock.”

Will had to swallow hard. Abigail certainly was straightforward.

“I’ll be too afraid to find you taken already,” he admitted. “I’ll be years away from becoming a purser, even in two years. Your uncle would be a lunatic to allow me to woo you.”

“What if we wrote letters to each other, to keep us abreast of our lives. That way, you’d know I’ll not be taken yet and can chance the travel to Tavistock.”

“I can write letters, Abigail, but there’ll be a full year between my letters. It takes that long for us to reach New South Wales and return.”

“You’ll get lots of letters then when returning to port,” she said simply. “Just open the newest first to know if I’ll still be free. Will you write to me in turn, to let me know of your safe return?”

“I can promise you that, Abigail.”

The supper with Abigail and her uncle was a sad affair. Whilst Abigail was brave and committed to being a good hostess, her uncle barely spoke ten words all evening, staring at his hands most of the time with an empty gaze. Will did not envy the 16 year-old girl who had to step in for her desolate uncle and shoulder the mourning for her beloved brother. Out of this feeling of compassion, he promised to visit Tavistock after his next journey.

In the next morning, Will showed up in time for the service in the parish church where he was welcomed by the priest, the Reverend Mickelson, as he learned. Will was carrying his bundle of possessions, as he had already cleared his lodgings at the Tin Plate, but he was wearing his new bowtie and a neat queue.

The Trents arrived only shortly before the service began, and Will guessed that Abigail had been hard pressed to talk her uncle into attending. Mister Mickelson greeted the Trents with compassion and had them sit in the front pew.

When the service started, Mickelson told his parish about Horace’s death far away from England and asked them to support his bereaved sister and uncle. Then he asked Abigail to give a short eulogy for her brother, and she did so in short but well articulated sentences. She appeared composed to Will who had to admire her resilience. Her uncle, by contrast, looked completely unhinged to Will.

Then Reverend Mickelson told his parishioners that a shipmate of Horace, Will, was with them, and he asked him to step forward and tell them of how the young man had perished.

Suffice to say, Will’s eulogy was not well articulated. He was inhibited, speaking for the first time in front of a congregation. He stammered, and he had forgotten the words he’d planned to say. Yet, he managed to retell the white lie about Horace having died fighting manfully and bravely. The lie was perhaps even more convincing being delivered in a pitiful stammer. Yet, nobody in the congregation smirked or grinned, and when the service had ended, many a stout man or matron shook his hand, thanking him for having travelled to Tavistock to tell them about young Horace Trent’s ultimate sacrifice.

Will then bid Abigail a hurried farewell, for a cart loaded with copper ore was waiting for him for his return journey to Plymouth. Still, sitting on the second seat of the wagon, with the creaking of the axles in his ears, he thought a lot about Abigail Trent. She was a sweet girl, of a good if poor family, brave, a hard worker, a good cook, and yes, very pretty. It might be worth his while to write and receive letters and mayhap visit Tavistock after their next passage to New South Wales and back.

Arriving in Plymouth, he found a room above a tavern near the harbour, but when he found the tea house again, he learned that Lydia had left Plymouth with an older, rather wealthy trader who’d promised her marriage. That was probably a good thing for Lydia, but Will found none of the other girls to his liking and left the place without getting his relief. In another tavern he found a pretty wench, but the experience was not a good one, with the girl morose and scared and the room and bed dirty and smelly. Back at his lodgings, he invested sixpence in a hot and soapy bath. He also had the maids wash his garments in freshwater with soap and lye, making certain that no fleas, bugs or lice were hiding in the fabrics.

The cot he had was a good one, the food was plenty, and the serving wench in the common room was pretty and witty, enticing Will to stay put for the rest of his leave. The wench, Betty, was not one to take men upstairs, but he could banter with her when she had time.

Thus, when he reported back on board, he was only a few shillings the poorer, but rested, sated and in a far better mood than after his return from Tavistock. Of course, he first reported to Mister Evans who looked at him with an inscrutable expression.

“How’d things go in Tavistock?”

“Not as I’d expected, Sir. Young Abigail Trent was quite composed and brave, but her elderly uncle was badly shaken.”

“One can never tell who’s able to weather a blow and who falls apart,” Evans sighed. “It’s good that you’re back. We’ve lots of errands, young Potter. There’ll be some changes, too.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Well, I’ll lend you to the captain for the next journey, sort of. He’ll fill the berth in the gunroom with Mister Edwards, meaning he’ll need a clerk, and you’ll be it.”

“Captain’s clerk, Sir?”

“Yes. There’s not much work there during most of the journey. What’s to report when we’re sailing an empty sea for weeks and months? Mister Edwards will show you what to do and how. You’ll still be able to do most of your work for me, and we’ll save one man’s provisions for nigh on a year.”

Will understood. If he performed both duties, no additional clerk would be hired and provisioned. The allotment for the clerk, a shilling per day, would go directly into Mister Evans’s pocket. This was a tolerated practice to which the Victualling Board turned a blind eye, and Mister Evans would gain over 300 shillings, £15.

“I see that you understand, but there’s more. A year as captain’s clerk is what you’ll need to become a purser, so we both profit.”

“I didn’t know that, Sir.”

“Now you do. It’s not an absolute requirement, but a year as captain’s clerk can make a big difference. I’m looking out for your advantage, too, young Potter.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You’ll have more room in that cabin too, when Edwards will move into the gunroom. Think you can do it?”

“I’ll do my best, Sir,” was all that Will could reply.

“The captain is with his family until next week, so we better get started with our errands. Come along, Potter!”

For the next three hours, he and Evans visited a number of shops and warehouses. Will was by now familiar with those and with the men who owned them. He noticed something peculiar though. Whilst Will had accompanied Evans in the years before, he had never been introduced to the shopkeepers. Now, Mister Evans took pains to acquaint his partners with Will.

When they were done with their purchases, Will had another surprise when Evans told him to come along, leading the way west from the city towards Devonport, until they arrived at a small house in a side street.

“Come in, Potter. Let’s have a decent supper.”

On the ground floor, there was a rather roomy living room with a large dinner table, but also a kitchen whence a middle aged woman appeared.

“You brought a visitor, Mister Evans?”

“Yes, Brewer. This is my steward, Will Potter. He’ll have supper with us.”

“This is short notice, Mister Evans, but I made a little more, and it’ll be enough.”

“I know; you always do. Mister Balder will have to make do with one helping.”

The woman, Brewer, grinned. “He’ll be mighty miffed.”

Evans turned to Will. “This is my house, but since I’m away most of the time, we’ve taken in boarders, to keep Brewer busy and to make ends meet. There’s three sleeping chambers upstairs for boarders, and one downstairs for me. It’s quite nice, too, not to eat alone.”

Will nodded and looked around in awe. The table and the other furniture were made of some dark wood and polished to a shine. There was even a huge pendulum clock in the corner telling the time. Somehow, he had never thought that a purser might actually own a house.

“This is a mighty fine house, Sir.”

“Hah! You bet it is, Potter! This is where I’ll live when my years of toil will be over. The house next door to the left is also mine and yields a pretty penny. Never waste, never want is my credo. I may only be the purser in an unrated sloop, but when my seafaring years will be over, I’ll live in style!”

“I think I understand, Sir,” Will said with a nod.

“I bet you do, young Potter. Now, Brewer, ring that bell so we may enjoy your cooking!”

Brewer nodded and turned to a ship’s bell that was hanging next to the kitchen entrance. She sounded three bells and proceeded to lay the table for six. Will volunteered to help but was told to sit at the table and enjoy. One after the other, three boarders appeared, one of them being a woman much to Will’s surprise. She was introduced as Miss Faversham and she was an actress. She was older than Will by ten years, but she was trim of figure and dressed fashionably.

Mister Balder and Mister Jenkins were the other boarders, both men in their late thirties, wearing well tailored coats and clean shirts. Will learned that both worked as senior clerks at the victualling yard, and Mister Evans introduced Will to them. Will realised that having two of the men who audited Mister Evans’s books as his boarders was not exactly a bad situation for him.

When supper was served, Will relished the soup and enjoyed the freshly baked bread that followed it. The butter which he spread on the slices was delicious, too. He hadn’t eaten buttered bread in years, and the soup had even bits of beef swimming in it. The best of all was that he got a second helping when he asked.

The company was pleasant, too. Mister Evans treated Will almost with affection. Balder and Jenkins asked him about his past and the reasons for volunteering, and they sympathised with him, albeit opining that he’d had a piece of luck joining the Serpent’s company and being assigned to Mister Evans. Lastly, Miss Faversham was also friendly, giving him smiles and treating him as an equal.

The next surprise came later, when Will was told to sleep in a chamber under the slated roof. Mister Evans needed him early in the next morning, and he needed him on the shore. Thus, for the first time in four years, Will slept in a room by himself. Yet, accustomed as he was to shipboard life, he was wide awake when the first sun rays stole through the tiny window the chamber could boast.

Downstairs, in the backyard, he found a hand pump and washed his hair and face. Brewer gave him a nice cloth to dry himself, and in exchange, he helped her to set the table. When Mister Evans, cranky as usual before his first coffee, entered the common room, Will was able to soothe his superior’s mood with the freshly brewed hot beverage. They had porridge with real milk for breakfast, at which they were joined by the boarders, but Will barely had the time to use the outhouse, before Evans told him to come along.

Strangely, they visited a Mister Cromwell who, as a beautifully crafted sign at his door pronounced, was a scholar of the law. He was obviously expecting Mister Evans and when Will was introduced as Master William Potter by Evans, Cromwell shook his hand and showed an inexplicable interest in him.

Mister Evans had some business with Cromwell, and he signed a number of documents. At one point, Mister Cromwell’s ancient clerk joined them to witness the signing of a duplicate document, of which one copy was stowed away into Mister Cromwell’s strongbox and the other folded and put into a strong linen envelope. That concluded the business, but once again, Will was surprised by the respectful farewell he received from Mister Cromwell.

Once out of Mister Cromwell’s house, Mister Evans gave Will a look.

“You’re doubtlessly asking yourself why I wanted you along?”

“Yes, Sir,” Will answered, knowing by now that Evans liked an honest answer.

“Very simple, my lad: I can send you to Cromwell and save myself the walk, now that he knows you by sight.”