Chapter 6: Clerk

Plymouth, Juli 1800

Over the next week, nothing pertaining to Serpent happened. It was rather pointless for Will to visit the dockyard twice a week before the Navy Board would make a decision about the sloop’s fate, and he made arrangements with the clerk of the dockyard to send a note to the commissioner’s office once orders came from London. The ship was on the slips, her masts pulled, and her copper plating removed, and she was slowly drying out. It was a sad sight, but Will was not looking forward to making another journey in a ship that leaked like a sieve, especially not on the Southern Route. Seeing the state of her timbers made him realise how lucky they had been to make it around the Horn in one piece.

Being without real duties, he agreed to work six days a week at the victualling yard instead, with Mister Davenport’s blessing, of course. The week passed quickly for him, as he still had to learn his duties. He was tasked with inspecting provisions most of the days, and in one case he even detected rotten meats in a delivery coming in from a Guernsey trader. The next day, he and another clerk inspected the entire cargo and found almost a third of the pork barrels unfit. The trader protested his innocence of course, but he had to accept a lower price for the remainder of his wares to avoid being put on the black sheep list of the victualling yard. The next morning, Mister Davenport himself showed in the clerks’ room and expressed his satisfaction with their work.

It was a good week for Will, but it became still better on Saturday. He had finished his work at the victualling yard by mid afternoon and returned to his house. Brewer had laid out a fresh shirt, clean trousers and a freshly cleaned coat for him. He found the cut-off 50-gallon water cask that filled from the rain gutter. It was located at the rear of the house, and Brewer had heated their biggest cauldron with water, which he emptied into the cask. He climbed into the tepid water with a big bar of soap and a brush and proceeded to give himself a thorough cleaning, even washing his hair with soap. He used part of an old bedlinen to dry himself off before rubbing his hair as dry as possible. Brewer then took a comb to his tangled hair and used a scissors to cut it to length. Clothed in his fresh things, he sat in front of his house in the afternoon sun to let his hair dry, greeting neighbours as they passed by.

He was soon joined by Samuel McSwain, who had moved into his own house a day before. A freshly painted sign now showed it to be the residence of a surgeon, and McSwain was busy converting the old shop in the front into a surgery. Together, they sat in the sun and talked like old shipmates, which they were. Will learned that Mister Barker was now the 1st lieutenant in the 6th-rate frigate HMS Dido, 28, under Captain D’Arcy, and readying the small frigate for sea. According to McSwain, Barker was complaining about Dido’s purser already, calling him a jackass and a scoundrel, and both men agreed that Mister Barker was spoiled after sailing with Mister Evans for so many years.

It was close to 5 o’clock when Will espied his betrothed walking up the street, looking left and right for his house. He stood quickly to meet her, and her face lit up when she saw him. Right there, in the middle of the street, she gave him a hug and a long kiss and then let him lead her to the house.

“Abby, this is my shipmate and neighbour, Mister Samuel McSwain, the surgeon. Sam, this is my bride, Miss Abigail Trent.”

McSwain stood and smiled at Abigail.

“My young friend Will is a lucky man, Miss Trent. Of course, he told us about you and about how pretty you are. We thought he was just spinning a yarn, but he told the truth.”

Abigail blushed and smiled. “Will also spoke of you and of how good a surgeon you are, Mister McSwain. I also want to thank you for all your did for my poor brother.”

“Aye, that was a sad business. He was a good youth and a fine young officer, was Adam Trent. Blast those cunning pirates!”

Just then, Brewer stood in the door frame, and Will made Abigail turn.

“Abby, this is our housekeeper, Jane Brewer. Brewer, this is my bride, Miss Trent.”

Brewer contrived a curtsey, making Abigail blush. She offered her hand to the older woman.

“I am pleased to meet you. Will told me how well you care for him and for the other gentlemen and the lady.”

“Mister Potter also told us of you, Miss Trent. I hope that you will find my work to your liking.”

“I am quite sure of it,” Abigail answered. “After our wedding, we can sit and speak about how the work can be divided. I have been keeping my uncle’s household for years, and I am no stranger to house work.”

“That will be for you to decide, Miss Trent,” Brewer answered with a shrug.

“I did not mean to say that I aim to replace you,” Abigail hastened to say.

“That is kind of you, Miss Trent. I’m not getting any younger, and in a few years I’ll likely be happy to get rid of some tasks.”

“That’s what I meant to say,” Abigail smiled. “We’ll have time to decide about such things.”

“I shall tend to my stew then,” Brewer answered. “Supper will be ready at half past six, as usual, Mister Potter.”

“That is good to hear. D’ye think we have enough food to invite Mister McSwain?”

Brewer nodded. “It’ll have to come out of your second helping, but yes.”

“It’ll be Mister Balder’s first and second helpings, seeing that he’s with his family tonight,” Will corrected her.

“Also true,” Brewer conceded and retreated towards her kitchen.

Will and Abigail remained outside, enjoying the evening sun and talking to McSwain. When they could hear the church bell toll the half hour though, they entered the house and found the common room. Jenkins and Miss Faversham joined them there, and Will effected the introductions. Abigail was a little flustered meeting the attractive, worldly actress, but the goodnatured woman soon made her feel at ease. Jenkins was also on his best behaviour, pointing out to Abigail that her betrothed was a man with a future in the service of the Victualling Board and the Navy.

Abigail also gazed around in the room, taking in the old but well kept furniture, the large window facing the street, and the soft wool rug. With a smile, she told Will how much she liked what she saw.

“Have you by chance anything from your parents that you may want to bring along?” Will asked, knowing that her parents had not been poor.

“There is a fine pendulum clock in my room at home. It was my mother’s. It might fit well in this room,” she answered. “Uncle had the watchmaker clean it, and it runs true. It is from my grandfather and made by John Harrison.”

“It will get a place of honour in this room,” Will assured her. He had little knowledge of clocks, and the name John Harrison was unknown to him. Yet, it was important to Abigail, and that was that.

Mister Jenkins entered the conversation. “Harrison was one of the foremost clockmakers of his time and invented the chronometer on which the Royal Navy relies for navigation. A clock from his manufacture must be excellent.”

“We believe it is,” Abigail confirmed. “Mister Toombs, the clockmaker sets it once a year, and it’s never more than five minutes off.”

“Impressive!” Jenkins exclaimed. “Why, I’ll be able to set my fob watch after it.”

Jenkins produced a huge, silver-plated pocket watch, which he consulted frequently during the day, as Will had already observed. He suspected that Jenkins was not so much interested in the time, but rather in showing off what had to be one of his most prized possessions.

“I’ve never had a watch,” Will admitted. “Never had the need either. In the Serpent, the ship’s bell sounded every half hour. D’ye think I need one now?”

He had asked the table at large, and Jenkins answered first.

“It is helpful during the workday to be on time for seeing people at the yard. Mister Davenport may also summon you at a given time, and you don’t want to let him wait.”

Will could not hide the grin remembering how Davenport had let him stand, ignoring him for ten minutes at the least. But Jenkins’s opinion made sense.

“I don’t even know how much a good watch will cost.”

“A new one? Twenty guineas at the very least. A used one? Anything from two pounds for a battered wreck to a hundred guineas for a gold-cased repeating watch.”

“Will, I still have my father’s watch. It was kept for Horace. It’s a good watch, and it’ll be yours by rights when we’ll be married.”

Will was surprised. “Your uncle never mentioned it when we talked about ... your dowry.”

Abigail smiled sadly. “He probably forgot. I have been safekeeping it.”

“Well, that settles it then. I shall have a watch.”

“It’ll also show your standing as a warrant officer,” Abigail added.

“There is that, too,” Will conceded.

“Your bride has a good head on her shoulders, not just a pretty one,” Miss Faversham smiled, patting Abigail’s hand on the table. “You’ll likely go far if you listen to her.”

“Such is my belief,” Will answered solemnly, looking into Abigail’s eyes.

The rest of the supper was spent in easy conversation, with everybody doing their best to keep Abigail at ease. They succeeded, too, for the young woman was upbeat when Will escorted her back to her friend’s home. Dusk was upon them when he delivered her into Mistress Williams’ care. Of course, he was not to be let go so easily.

“Please, do come in, my dear young man,” Maggie Williams exclaimed. “I had to listen to Abby as she listed all your virtues during our ride into Plymouth, and I must find out whether there is really such a gem of a man.”

She was a woman of middling age with grey-streaked reddish hair and a still youthful figure. Her daughter, the mistress of the house, was from the same mould, only without grey hair and with lesser smile lines. Her name was Susan Carrington, and she was married to a corn merchant. To guess from their house, they had to be well off, too.

“I’m no gem at all,” Will answered.

“Tut-tut! No false modesty, Mister Potter! Abby said you’re a wardroom officer already.”

“I was lucky, and I owe everything to my mentor, Mister Evans.”

“Mother, let him be!” Susan Carrington interceded. “Please, Mister Potter, do come in!”

There was no way for Will to resist, since Abigail, too, pulled him in by his arm. He had to sit in a soft, upholstered chair — a novel experience for a young man who had sat on hard benches and stools all his life — and accept a cup of tea, sweetened and with a dollop of cream. It tasted heavenly.

“Abby says you are from Shaldon?” Susan Carrington started the not-so-subtle questioning, which revealed much of Will’s past. He admitted to being born out of wedlock, raised by a ship chandler and then coerced into volunteering into the Navy by a sympathetic justice, after beating up the local bully. Strangely, those revelations never fazed the women, whilst Abigail kept pressing his hand to show her support.

“I was in church when you spoke about poor Horace,” Maggie Williams revealed when Will was finished with his life’s story. “I thought it was moving and earnest. Whatever your past was and however many ruffians you may have beat up, Abby chose well when she accepted your wooing.”

“I heard the banns being read last Sunday,” Susan Carrington added, “but I had no face to put to the name. Tomorrow, I shall. I knew Abby’s parents, and I knew Horace. It is good that she’s finding happiness now.”

Finally, Will was able to say his good-byes — it was going on ten o’clock — and make his escape. Still, walking home through the dark streets and alleys, he felt good about the day and the evening. Abigail was well liked by his household, and he found acceptance by Abigail’s friends. Having somebody in Plymouth whom she knew and befriended would be important to Abigail when Serpent would be repaired or if Will would get another ship.

Sunday morning, after a hearty breakfast, Will arrived at the Carringtons’ house a half hour before church, to pick up Abigail. Susan Carrington opened and asked him in, and a heartbeat later, Abigail skipped down the stairs and into his arms.

“Good morning, my lovely bride!” Will got out before Abigail silenced him with a long kiss, making him blush six shades of red, much to Susan Carrington’s amusement. Once she let go of his lips, he held her at arm’s length and regarded her. She was wearing a light blue dress, obviously one of her good dresses, and a white hood that framed her face but could not contain her long, chestnut tresses. Will sighed. “There will be problems. Soon as they see you, all the unwedded men and some of the wedded ones will protest the banns.”

Abigail beamed at him. “It might be the other way around. The mothers of unwed daughters will protest once they see you! After all, you have only attended Evensong when the banns were read the first two times.”

“You two!” Maggie Williams laughed from behind them. “Now, shoo! We want a pew up front today, so no dawdling!”

They arrived at Saint Andrew’s in plenty of time and found seating in the second to foremost pew. An altar server was busy around the front pew, so Will asked him to notify Reverend Atherton that Will and his bride were in attendance for the third reading of the banns.

When Reverend Atherton commenced the service, he looked about, and when he regarded Will, he gave him a smile and a nod. Then the service proceeded in the proscribed manner, until after the Our Father. Then Atherton started to read the announcements.

Banns were read for the first time for one Timothy Morton and his bride, Ellie Denton, before it was Will and Abigail’s turn.

“I herewith announce the banns of marriage between William Potter, ship’s purser, HMS Serpent, of Devonport and Abigail Elisabeth Trent of Tavistock. This is the third time asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it or hold your peace henceforth.”

Will forced himself to look forward, rather than checking if somebody raised a complaint. None came forward of course, and Atherton concluded the affair.

“The banns have been read thrice, both here, at Saint Andrews, and in Tavistock, at the church of Saint Eustachius. The wedding will be held there on Sunday next, but I hope to welcome the young couple here at Saint Andrews a week later, so that they may receive our blessing, too.”

Will was surprised, but he gave Mister Atherton a nod, not wanting to speak out. A glance at Abigail showed that she was blushing prettily and also nodding vigorously. The reverend smiled.

“I believe I see agreement. Now all of you, be on your ways with God’s Grace and His Blessing!”

Having secured his housekeeper’s agreement, Will then asked Mistress Williams and her daughter to join them for Sunday dinner in Will’s house. They hedged a little, claiming they had a roast ready, but then relented, being too curious about Abigail’s future home.

Seating six at the dinner table was feasible, but it was fortunate that Mister Balder would not return to Plymouth before Monday morning. Both guests were quite impressed with the house, although Miss Faversham’s presence caused them to lift their eyebrows. Things were eased when Abigail gave the actress a hug and professed her gratitude for having a world-wise woman at hand to help her avoid the pitfalls of a large port city.

Jenkins was a perfect gentleman and charmed the women, and he even refrained from pulling his watch for the entire duration of the meal. The main course, a large pastry, one of Brewer’s best dishes, caused general acclaim. Brewer blushed deeply when her cooking was praised, but she scolded Jenkins when he claimed that her cooking had improved lately, likely to impress the new mistress.

“I’ve yet to see you leave enough on your plate to save a starving mouse, Mister Jenkins, so you must have liked my cooking just fine!”

“We all enjoy what you cook, my dear Brewer,” Miss Faversham soothed Brewer’s ruffled feathers. “Mister Jenkins is only trying to goad you.”

“If ever you feel the need to quit here, come see me!” Susan Carrington added.

“No poaching, if you please!” Will mock-protested, raising his forefinger in warning, and causing chuckles around the table.

Mollified, Brewer served them coffee and apple pie, again to much praise. The coffee was excellent since Mister Evans had been keen on the beverage. Will loved it too, and he had brought a large bag of beans from Brazil which Brewer roasted and ground to his liking.

Abigail had expressed her wish to see Will’s ship, so after dinner, he hired a cab for the ride out to Devonport and the dockyard. There, they saw the old Serpent in her desolate state, and the women were astonished that the sad wreck had carried Will around the world. He then explained that she only looked so bad with the copper sheeting and the caulking removed, but Abigail was clearly taken aback at the prospect that her future husband was to sail in the tiny old sloop. He calmed her by pointing out that she would not be repaired in all likelihood and that he might end up on the clerical staff of the victualling yard for good or be appointed to a newer and bigger ship.

Then it was time for Abigail and Maggie Williams to catch the ride back to Tavistock and for the young couple to bid farewell for a week. The next Sunday would see them married however, and they were upbeat when they kissed for a last time. Will used the opportunity to hire the young coachman for the next Sunday afternoon, to transport Will, Abigail, and their Plymouth guests back from Tavistock after the wedding dinner.

When the wagon had left, Will escorted Mistress Carrington back to her house and bade his farewell. She surprised him with a heartfelt hug before she closed the door, leaving him a little confused.

The work week began very busy at the victualling yard and the clerks in the commissioner’s office. Four sail of the line had cast anchor for urgent provisioning, and at the same time, five brigs with naval food supplies arrived. The victualling yard had to receive and examine the goods and move them to the storage before sending provisions to the men o’war.

Will made the innocent suggestion to inspect pork barrels, cheese wheels and hard tack sacks right on board the lighters and move them directly to the recipients. The other clerks looked at him as if he had blasphemed. The ships would get the oldest supplies in the victualling yard, and the new foods would be put into storage until it was their turn. That was the established system to prevent wastage. It was a fortuitous coincidence that Mr. Davenport himself was walking through with one of the captains and chanced to hear the explanation.

“I believe that in this particular case where time is of essence, we should follow Mister Potter’s suggestion. I was informed that more supplies will come in within the week and a squadron from the fleet blockading Rochefort will also arrive shortly. There will be ample opportunity to move our older provisions then, whilst we can save Sir Edward’s squadron a day and more.”

Sir Edward, that had to be Sir Edward Pellew, one of the naval heroes of the last years, Will realised. He was still in his early forties, of a trim figure, and with lively blue eyes — a dashing officer by all accounts.

“I appreciate your willingness to cut corners, my dear Mister Davenport. I shall not fail to let Lord Saint Vincent know of your able help. Who’s the young man with the quick wit, pray?”

“Hrhm, that’s Mister William Potter, purser in the Serpent sloop. He’s helping out in my office until his ship is repaired or sent to the breakers.”

“Potter, huh? Well, I’ll remember the name for when we’ll need a good purser in the Channel Fleet. Thank you, gentlemen!”

With that, Davenport led his illustrious visitor into his own, private office. The looks directed at Will were not all friendly, but Jenkins shrugged and grinned.

“Well, you heard Mister Davenport! Wentworth, you’ll inspect the cheeses in the Nº 12 lighter. Take Bellman with you and deliver directly to the ships, starting with Nonsuch, Sir Edward’s ship. Morton, can you handle the hardtack? Splendid. Take lighter Nº 7! Rickman, you’ll handle the peas in lighter Nº 15. Make certain that the sacks are not filled with dirt. Potter, you asked for it. Take three of the coopers and lighter Nº 5. You’ll get to sniff pork barrels all day. I shall get the lighters ready for all of you. Let’s kiss up to Sir Edward now!”

Will nodded, realising that Jenkins had given him the worst task to quell any resentment against him. Indeed, he received pitiful looks from the other clerks when he grabbed the pork barrel ledger before leaving.

He found the cooper, Millner, in the main shop and asked for three cooper’s mates to help him with the inspections. Millner identified two mates, but decided to go himself, too. Indeed, when they made it to the quay, the large lighter Nº5 was readying, and soon, propelled by a lateen sail, the lighter made its way to a 400-ton brig which held the pork barrels.

Once the lighter was alongside, Will climbed up onto the deck and introduced himself to the ship’s master. It took a while for the skipper to understand the changed procedure, but then, his crew assembled around the tackles. It would be impossible to open and inspect all the pork barrels, but Will made it a point to look over each barrel that was hoisted up from the hold, searching for telltale signs of brine leakage. One in six barrels were opened for inspection, with Will using a long poker to fish out one or two meat chunks. He sniffed at the meats, but he also used a floating pin to gauge the concentration of the brine.

There was no fault with the first eight barrels, and Will switched to one in ten for inspection. By late afternoon, the lighter was loaded to the limit with pork barrels, and Will ordered a stop. The loaded lighter then made across the Hamoaze, heading for HMS Nonsuch, 74, Pellew’s ship. Her 1st lieutenant, Mister Brownall, and her purser, Mister Collins, were prepared, and with over 300 hands manning numerous tackles, they made short work of hoisting up and stowing 120 pork barrels.

Will spent most of the time on the upper deck of the man o’war, keeping track of the count, together with Mister Collins, a man with over twenty years experience as purser. Keeping up an easy conversation, Will learned quite a few things from the man, not least of all the different arithmetics of calculating the needs for a crew of 520, compared with the puny complement of 120 in Serpent.

From Nonsuch, the lighter then sailed for Agamemnon, 64. Here, the crews were ready, too, and they were done even faster since the smaller 64-gun ship needed only 68 barrels of pork.

Using the last light of the summer evening, the lighter finished supplying all four ships of the line with pork, and from what Will could tell, the other goods — bread, cheese and peas — had been delivered as well. Everybody on board the lighter was exhausted by the time they reached the quay, and it was past ten o’clock before Will came home. He found a grinning Mister Jenkins in the common room.

“Finished at last?” he queried.

Will nodded. “Aye. We can put the rest of the pork in storage tomorrow, but the ships will likely weigh anchor with the morning tide.”

“Mister Davenport was really satisfied. I am to tell you that you’ll have the next week off, with pay.”

“Really? He must’ve been really happy with us.”

“Think of it, my young friend! If Pellew tells Saint Vincent of our quick work, and Saint Vincent lets the Board know of it, Mister Davenport may soon get a bigger appointment, Portsmouth or even Deptford. Let’s face it: Plymouth is on the arse end of England if you’re a gentleman of breeding; only Falmouth is worse. You’ll help Davenport to one of the plum assignments and he’ll give you a frigate as your next ship, not just some puny brig-sloop. Think 250 crew! Think over £12 a day to work with!”

“I’ll believe it when I’ll see the orders,” Will smiled tiredly. “Is there any food left?”

“There’s a cold pastry and you know where to find the keg of ale,” Jenkins answered. He tilted his head. “You understand why I had to give you the pork lighter?”

“Aye, some of my fellow clerks were jealous.”

“Right you are! Need to keep peace in the office.”

“Anything to help,” Will sighed to the laughter of Jenkins, before he found the cold pastry in the larder. It was a heavenly supper for a man who had not eaten all day, and he washed it down with two pints of ale, with Jenkins keeping him company. It was almost midnight when Will dropped into his bed, and in spite of his filled stomach, he fell asleep within minutes.

The next days were busy, but not as taxing as the Monday. All week, supplies came in and had to be registered, inspected and stowed. Fortunately, only a few smaller vessels came into port for victualling, and come Saturday noon, Will could leave the office to prepare himself for his wedding.

There was not much for him to do. Brewer had washed, brushed and polished everything he needed to wear during his wedding and packed it neatly into his sea chest. She had also prepared Mister Jenkins’s valise, as well as her own. Miss Belle Faversham, being an actress and used to travelling, needed no help with packing and was ready. Soon, the house was locked up — Mister Balder spent Saturday and Sunday with his family — and the small group plus Samuel McSwain climbed into the waiting two-horse carriage that would bring them to Tavistock.

Brewer had prepared a basket with food and brought along two bottles of Madeira wine, making the short journey enjoyable for all. They were decidedly merry when they arrived. Will had arranged for lodging in the Tin Plate inn where they stored their belongings in their sleeping chambers. Will had a room for himself, but the other two men and the two women each shared sleeping chambers.

Will’s first task was then to see the Trents and find out if everything was going as planned. He found Abigail in the middle of preparing a sweet cake for their wedding dinner whilst her uncle was busy brushing up his best coat. He made himself useful and assisted his bride in her quest by whipping cream for the cake topping, frequently tasting her sweet lips whenever she came near him, which was often. She was upbeat and giggly, and Will found her more lovely than ever.

Having consulted his fellow clerks at the victualling yard, he knew that he was responsible for the supper on the eve of their wedding, and by six in the evening, Will’s group, the Trents, and a few friends of Abigail including Maggie Williams joined in the common room of The Tin Plate. A goose had been roasted for them, with a rich sauce, and they had mashed potatoes, fresh green peas and sweet carrots along with the roast. There was a keg of ale, too, and the group had a fine evening.

Abigail, at Will’s side, was having a great time, laughing with her friends, with Will’s friends, and most importantly with a slightly drunk Jane Brewer, who was caught up in the spirit of the evening.

Brewer was sitting side by side with Samuel McSwain, and Will could have sworn that they sat closer than was necessary. She also blushed and giggled frequently, mostly after McSwain whispered something to her, and Will surmised that something was developing between his wardroom mate and his housekeeper.

Will also made a point of telling Abigail how he had been introduced to a real baronet and a naval hero to boot, but also of the one-week leave that would give them a bit of a honeymoon together. This made Abigail kiss him unashamedly, causing much teasing and laughter around the table.

Even Abigail’s normally morose uncle thawed a little when Belle Faversham made it a point to strike up a conversation with him. Will knew already that Faversham was her own seamstress, and she easily found topics for talk with a cloth merchant.

Maggie Williams and Mister Jenkins also engaged in lively talk. To his astonishment, Will learned that she was a widow, having buried her husband two years earlier, a fact that noticeably fuelled Mister Jenkins’s interest in the woman.

By 9 o’clock the gathering broke up, and after settling the tab, Will escorted his bride and her uncle on the short walk to their home, where he received a long kiss from Abigail for his troubles. Back at the Tin Plate, Will lay awake for some time, thinking about the next day when he and Abigail would be joined, and about what would happen at the same time next evening when they would retire to his — their — sleeping chamber. He felt his excitement grow, but he resisted the temptation to bring about his release. He could wait another night.

He was up early in the next morning and washed himself with great care using the wash basin and a jar of freshwater. He dragged a comb through his wavy brown hair and then tied it into a queue. Slipping back into his used shirt and his trousers, he went downstairs to the common room where he found the landlord’s wife busy setting the breakfast table for the overnight guests.