Chapter 7: The Princess Royal

Plymouth, August 1800

The generous leave Will had been given by Mr. Davenport allowed the two newlyweds a week of married bliss, culminating — at Abigail’s insistence — in another visit to Shaldon, where Will presented his wife to his old master, Joseph Warren, but also to the Holloways in whose inn they spent the night. Eve Holloway went out of her way to be welcoming to Abigail, who hesitantly returned the friendliness.

Nevertheless, the week of leisure and love passed, and on Monday next, Will was back to his work at the victualling yard. He was also still responsible for the old Serpent which was sitting on the skids in Devonport, and once a week, he visited the dockyard to learn of new developments. The Navy Board, in its infinite inertia, took their time to decide upon the worn ship’s fate. By now, her old timbers were drying out and shrinking, opening up gaping cracks in her hull and inducing the shipwright to ask urgently for instructions.

Finally, another official from London showed up, and Will was summoned to the dockyard. The man, a Mister Darlington, viewed the decaying hull for over two hours, probing the planks with his penknife, poking around the knees and inspecting the keel and the keelson. In the end, with Will, the sailing master, the boatswain, the carpenter and the dockyard shipwright watching, he gravely shook his head.

“I’m afraid that there’s no use in revising her,” he announced in an undertaker’s voice. “Not the best timbers to begin with, you see. We can have a new sloop built for the same cost, with lower running costs and a smaller complement. I shall put her up for auction, not that she’ll fetch much.”

He faced the warrant officers next. “Just be thankful that she held up during that last journey. You sailed around the Horn with her? You were lucky.”

Mister Brown, the carpenter, nodded to this. “She sure was falling apart.”

Darlington looked at the men. “You gentlemen need to find new appointments. I shall notify the commander in chief of my decision. By day after tomorrow, you can call on his office for your next employment. Mister ... Potter?”

“Yes, Sir,” Will answered.

“Close her books and call on the commissioner. I shall send a copy of my decision to him as well. She’s not carrying purser’s goods anymore?”

“No, Sir.”

“That should make your final reckoning easy, Mister Potter. Oh, well! I better write those reports now. You gentlemen have a good day!”

The assembled warrant officers looked at each other.

“Well, that’s it for the old Serpent,” Gorran, the sailing master said.

“She brought us back to Plymouth, but just barely so,” Brown, the carpenter said judiciously.

“Must’ve been that final run around the Horn that did her in,” Penryn, the boatswain opined.

“That, the heat, and sailing eight times around the world,” Gorran agreed. “She’s worn out, that’s what she is.”

They all looked at Will for comments, but he had little.

“I haven’t been sailing in her as long as you, but she’s the only ship I know,” he said with a touch of sadness.

Brown whacked Will’s shoulder. “About time for you to see something else, not those blasted runs for Sydney. A dismal business anyway you look at it to help transport yon poor souls t’the end of the world.”

“Right you are, Peter,” Penryn nodded. “What say you fellows, shall we have a few drinks on the old Serpent?”

“I say aye!” Brown exclaimed. “Pelham’s Tea House?”

They all looked at Will who was freshly married. He shrugged.

“The drinks will be all right, but for the rest of the entertainment, I shall pass.”

“Pelham’s it is then,” Gorran, who was the senior warrant officer, concluded. “Let’s find a cab!”

It was after dark when Will returned home. He had dutifully partaken of four rounds of ale and had watched over his shipmates’ purses whilst they were led upstairs by the young and not so young whores who offered more than ale to the paying patrons of the ill-named tea house. Yet, he himself had stayed steadfast in his refusal of the wenches. Truth be told, he was kept thoroughly sated by Abigail, and none of the wenches measured up to her in his eyes.

He had also been contemplating his future whilst nursing his ale. Working in the commissioner’s office as a temporary clerk would not feed him and Abigail without the steady pay as Serpent’s purser. Yet, to be appointed to a new ship would mean leaving Abigail, just two weeks after their wedding. In the end, he decided to speak about this with Jenkins.

Abigail was a little worried when he arrived so late, and he quickly explained about the decision to break up Serpent and about the drink he and his fellow officers had had in the old ship’s memory. Still, Abigail was subdued when they retired to their bedchamber, and Will noticed.

“I’m sorry you were worried, Abby,” he soothed her. “I couldn’t leave earlier. The others gave me their purses to watch over whilst they went upstairs with the wenches, and I had to wait for them to finish.”

“Where on Earth did you go, Will?”

“Umh, Pelham’s Tea House. It’s a ... well, a house of convenience. I would’ve preferred a regular tavern or inn, but I’m the youngest, and the others picked Pelham’s.”

“Am I not ... good enough?” Abigail asked with a trembling voice, and Will finally understood.

“Abby, look at me!” he told her, lifting her chin with his hand. “I went there, I had ale, but I kept my vows. Of course, those wenches tried to talk me into going upstairs, but I told them I’m married to a much prettier girl. Abby, I’ll not whore around on you. I promise.”

“Aren’t they better ... in the bed, I mean?”

“There is none better than you, because you are my dear wife, and I care for you. Not just because you’re pretty, but because you’re the best that ever happened to me. I never had someone like you in my life, somebody who cares for me. I’ll never throw that away.”

Abigail stared at him with wide open eyes. “You mean that, don’t you, Will Potter?”

He nodded, and suddenly, he was in her violent embrace.

“Forgive me, Will!” she sobbed against his chest. “Forgive me for being stupid and not trusting you.”

“Sssh! There’s nothing to forgive. We’re still freshly married. We have to learn to trust each other. It’s easier for me, seeing how you are a well bred girl. Me, I’m a bastard orphan and a sailor to boot. Small wonder you can’t trust me yet.”

She stopped sobbing and sat upright. Now it was her turn to grip his chin and make him look at her. “Don’t ever call yourself a bastard again! You are my husband, a good man, a brave sailor, and a wonderful ... lover. There, I’ve said it. It’s more that I see how other women may flock to you, and I’m so skinny and mousy.”

“Abby, I love you the way you are. Would you rather be different? I might not love you if you were different. You’re skinny because you’re a hard worker and always busy, and because you’re still young. You’re not mousy either. When we are together, here in our bed, you’re not like a mouse, you’re akin to a tigress. You know what a tigress is?”

She nodded, and even in the weak light of the lantern, he could see her blush.

“It’s because I love what we do.”

“And how can I not love it, too? It’s not that alone. Even now, when we are arguing, talking — aye, even crying — even now, I’m rather with you than with any other girl. I shall prove it to you, too. Tonight, I shall forego the pleasures you give me, and yet, I shall hold you tight as you sleep and I shall wake you with a loving kiss.”

“What if I don’t want to forego our pleasures?” she asked coyly.

“Then you’ll see just how steadfast I can be in the face of temptation.”

“You mean it, don’t you? Would I had kept my silly mouth shut,” she pouted.

“Yes, I mean it. Think of how much sweeter tomorrow night will be.”

“Will you still hold me tight like you always do?”

“That’s my promise.”

“Let’s get ready for bed then.”

Later, as they lay face to face with each other, Abigail gave him a long kiss.

“I love you, Will. That’s why I’m afraid of losing you.”

“It’ll take a French cannon ball to lose me, Abby, and they aim poorly as everybody says.”

Two days later, Will was called into Mister Davenport’s office. He was even offered to sit in a chair on the other side of Davenport’s huge oakwood desk.

“Good morning, Mister Potter,” Davenport offered politely.

“Good morning, Sir,” Will answered formally.

“I saw the report from the Navy Board. You are without ship now?”

“Yes, Sir. Serpent was condemned and will be auctioned off.”

“I see. Of course you’ll want a new ship now?”

“I need to earn a living, Sir, and I’d hate to lose my warrant.”

“Understandable. Unfortunately, there’s no ship commissioning at the moment. However, Mister Jenkins made me aware of another opening. I could appoint you to a receiving ship here in Plymouth. It is a regular appointment, and there are a few hundred men to be fed and clothed. Plus, a lot of the sailors on board the receiving ships have been paid off. You could run your slop chest with good profits I imagine.”

Will thought quickly. This was a better deal than being responsible for the laid up Serpent. He would be responsible for quite a number of sailors, and with the high turnover of a receiving ship, there would be chances for profit.

“I should be very grateful for such a posting, Sir. Which ship will you give me?”

Davenport chuckled benevolently. “I should think so, Mister Potter. I shall give you the Princess Royal. She’s an old second-rate, and she serves as Sir Thomas Pasley’s flagship. She’s also the largest receiving ship in Plymouth Harbour.”

Will had to suppress a whistle. Vice Admiral Pasley was Commander-In-Chief, Plymouth, and a highly regarded veteran of the Battle of the Glorious First of June, five years ago. Davenport continued.

“Sir Thomas’s health is rather frail, and he does not spend much time on board the Princess Royal. You’ll just have to see to the needs of those petty officers and ratings waiting for their next ship.”

“Yes, Sir,” Will responded, just to say something.

“With the victualling yard close by, there’ll be no need for large stores of provisions, allowing you to seize opportunities as they arise. It’ll be a good chance to hone you skills, Mister Potter.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“Of course, the Princess Royal will require your full attention, so we’ll lose your talent here. That cannot be helped.”

“I understand, Sir, and I’m right grateful for all I’ve learned here.”

“Well, good luck in your new ship, Mister Potter. Report to Captain Preble tomorrow. Mister Jenkins can show you your predecessor’s reports.”

“Yes, Sir! By your leave?”

With a nod, Will was excused and he found Jenkins who smiled at him.

“That’s a swell posting, Potter. You’ll be sitting pretty in that big old bathtub.”

“She’s really a three-decker?”

“Yes, 90 guns she carried; a second-rate she was. Now, of course, it’s all living quarters. The orlop deck is crammed with prisoners, mostly Frogs. You know the allowance for feeding prisoners?”

“Sixpence a day?”

Jenkins nodded. “Too much to starve, and not enough to live. Be a good purser and don’t make profits off those poor devils. The rations for them aren’t fixed. You’ll save the expense for rum or chewy. Old bread from the shore is also cheaper than hard tack.”

“How about pork and cheese?”

“Less, but some of both. You’ll have to make a reckoning how much you can dole out.”

“Damn!” Will said. “That’s a sorry business.”

Back at his house in the evening, he told Abigail about his new appointment. She was happy that Will would not be posted to a seagoing ship yet and be away for months or even years. He also told her that his income would increase due to the large volume of provisions he would handle. He knew already that there were four hundred prisoners and almost five hundred ratings to feed, the latter also potential buyers for his slop chest. It was time for him to stock his private goods to meet the needs of five hundred men willing to spend their meagre pay on a few luxuries.

The good thing about the old Princess Royal was that she was anchored at Stonehouse Pool, close to Kings Road and just two miles from where Will lived. He could easily reach her by boat after a brisk walk, and that was what he did in the next morning. Her captain was not on board, but the first lieutenant, Mr. Jones, was. James Jones was as old as the hills and clearly on his final posting. He welcomed Will to the grand wardroom on the middle gun deck of the old battleship which housed just three lieutenants, an ancient sailing master, and Will. They were all either beyond their seagoing days or invalids, or both. What little duties they had kept them moderately busy, but the atmosphere was one of boredom.

Most of them slept ashore with the captain’s permission, delegating watch officer duties at night to one of the master’s mates or midshipmen. Will learned that there was a purser’s steward on board who handled most of the menial tasks. The captain, John Preble, hardly ever showed his face in the ship, instead serving the Commander in Chief on the shore.

After acquainting himself with his wardroom mates and taking over the wardroom purse, he found their steward and inspected the wardroom stores. He also added his monthly share of the dues, £4 10d to the purse which he secured in the lockbox in his new cabin. Next he had the purser’s steward report to him.

Tom Miller was a former topman who had lost his lower left leg in some long forgotten engagement. He got along nicely enough on his peg leg, and he was able to dole out the provisions three times a day, but he barely had any knowledge of letters and numbers. He had been the purser’s steward from when the ship had been hulked ten years ago, earning his meagre pay and being grateful for regular food and a small cot in a cabin on the main deck.

He showed Will the hold with the water casks, the spirits locker, the cheese locker, and the other stored provisions. Princess Royal was set on monthly victualling, making the stored foods a little fresher compared with seagoing ships. The water was even taken biweekly, a rare luxury.

According to Miller, Will’s predecessor had died in his sleep some 10 days before, and the Victualling Book was showing entries up to that date. The late purser had also left behind a decently filled slop chest, but no last will and no known kin. After talking to Mister Jones, an agreement was reached by which Will purchased the slop chest for £15, the money to be added to the wardroom purse.

It was a good thing that Will had kept most of the slop chest wares from the Serpent, but he soon realised that he had to plan on a much bigger scale. After all, almost five hundred Navy ratings were lodging in the ship, and since they came from ships that had been laid up, most had received their back pay and had money in their pockets.

To his luck, he found out that Abigail had a good sense for keeping stock from helping her uncle, and she remembered where the elder Trent had purchased shirts and other items at good prices. Neckties were also ordered from that source and pants, at much less cost than the wholesalers in Plymouth offered.

Of course, some of the staples were cheaper in a port city, such as tobacco, sugar and other colonial goods. Penknives were popular, too, and Abigail knew a merchant in Tavistock who got his wares directly from the Birmingham forges and at good prices.

Within a month of joining the Princess Royal, Will was making a brisk business. Having worked for Mister Davenport, Will also knew that the victualling board allowed small errors in the purser’s favour, and in a receiving ship, it was virtually impossible to keep exact records of the numbers of ratings who received food and clothing. Against a share of the proceeds, Mister Jones, the 1st lieutenant, who kept the muster roll, always listed a small number of non-existing sailors — ghosts — on the lists. At a shilling per day, five ghosts might yield over £90 per year which Jones and the previous purser had divided up. Of course, the actual numbers were a bit lower, but it still was good money. There was also the trick of keeping the ratings a day or so longer in the books, also adding to the earnings. With Jones’s tacit agreement, Will diverted those monies to the feeding of the prisoners on the lower gun deck.

Still, after the first four weeks, Will recorded a personal income of over £16. Things would slow down when ratings would be transferred to their new ships, but Jones had told him already that the head count rarely dropped below 300. It was going to be a very profitable posting for Will.

At home, his life was also harmonious. Abigail had taken the reins of the household, but she had tried to divide the tasks evenly with Brewer, even switching their tasks every week. So far, Brewer had played along, although Will sensed that she was not too happy with the changed circumstances. The boarders, whilst used to Brewer’s ways, were rather happy over the small changes, such as new recipes or even different spices being used when Abigail prepared their meals. Will did his best to praise the cooking regardless of the cook to avoid ruffling any feathers.

His old shipmate, Samuel McSwain often joined them for supper and for a bit of talk afterwards. He was busy setting up his small practice next door, with some work done in his house to accommodate his business. Not much space was needed there for he saw most of his patients in their homes, as was the custom for most practitioners. Only the poor came to his door for some minimal care and to pick up some tincture or salve for their ailments.

Some three months into his new posting, Will came home one evening to find McSwain and Brewer sitting at the common room table and looking decidedly uneasy.

“Good evening,” he greeted them. “Is anything amiss?”

Brewer blushed deeply and kept silent, but McSwain spoke up.

“Will, I’m sorry, but there is...”

“Is anything with Abby?”

“No, Will, this is about me and Jane here. You see, I need somebody to keep my house and also to see my patients when I’m out paying visits. Jane would like to give it a try. She says that your wife is quite able to look after things here and that she’s feeling a bit like a fifth wheel...”

“It’s not like I’m unhappy or that the Mistress is unkind. She’s not. She just doesn’t need me. She’s a good worker and housekeeper herself. She could use a maid for laundry and such, but two housekeepers is one too many. You see, I’d gladly help out in a pinch, say when she’ll be with child, but I like to be needed, and Sam ... Mister McSwain needs me,” Brewer added, blushing a little.

She actually made sense to Will. Having two pursers sharing the duties in a ship would be bad as well.

“This is not what we want,” he said. “If you said you’d want to work for anybody but Samuel, I’d try to talk you out of it. Mister Evans made it a condition that I should keep you for as long as you want.”