Chapter 14: Fifth Class

January 1803

Classes commenced two days later, and soon the old routine of classroom and outdoor instructions was reestablished. Thomas put a dogged effort into catching up in trigonometry, and with the help of his mates, he slowly moved up in the rankings.

They had a new subject, too: ballistics. The material was mostly derived from Isaac Newton’s Principia and had a direct impact on future Navy officers. Mister Bayly himself taught the subject, and they learned the scientific basis of gun laying and mortar fire. This was something none of them had ever learned, and Thomas found that for once, he was on even footing with his better schooled fellow scholars.

When the class ended, it was late March. It was in fact Thomas’s birthday when Mister Bayly announced the rankings.

“I shall post the full rankings at my office, but I felicitate Mister Watson for his stellar effort.” Albert Watson, was unbeatable in all classroom studies, but an almost helpless case in physical activities. “The Nº2 rank is somewhat of a surprise. Well done, Mister Grey! Mister Gurr, you earned the Nº3 position. You others find out your ranking at your leisure, but those finding themselves at the bottom, take an example of those young gentlemen. Mister Grey, you received a letter from Captain William Grey. You can pick it up at my office.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Thomas fairly beamed.

Being fourteen years of age now and having earned his first top ranking in a class room subject did a lot to improve Thomas’s outlook. Now, there was a letter for him at the headmaster’s office, and he had a good idea what it contained. He picked it up after the History class ended, shortly before noon, and he stuffed it into his breast pocket to read after supper. He simply would have no leisure for reading it before that. With a smile on his face, he found the mess hall and his mates.

The afternoon moved along like freezing molasses. Finally, supper was doled out, and sitting with the others, he hastily emptied his plate. Demurring the offers to join the evening strolls, he claimed the need to read up on Arithmetics for the next morning and found his cabin, where he pulled the letter from his pocket and, using a small pocket knife, broke the seal. It was a strange handwriting that he saw in the flickering light of the candle, but that was explained immediately.

Guildford, March 21, AD 1803

Thomas sat unmovingly when he had finished reading the letter, his eyes brimming with tears, as the meaning became clear to him: his grandfather felt that his end was near, and this was his final farewell. A big lump blocked his throat and his chest felt heavy as he sat there trying to understand that there would be a world without the old captain in it, a world where he would have to cope without the sage advice and the well worn yarns of his grandfather. It was a saddening and unsettling prospect.

He sat there, alone in his feeling of imminent loss, until the boatswain’s pipe sounded, announcing the need for him to get ready for the night. With his cabin door still open, his mates were worried seeing his red eyes and his drawn face, but Robert interceded.

“You go and wash up, Thomas. We’ll have your back.”

Indeed, his friends gave him encouraging nods. With a forced smile, he nodded at them. At least, he still had his friends, he reasoned, whilst lying in his cot and hoping for sleep to come.

Some time during the night, he must have fallen asleep indeed, for when reveille was piped in the next morning, he was at least a little rested. Habit took over, and as every morning, he was the first to be dressed, with his cot made and his hair tied back.

Robert came to him then.

“Are you better now?”

Thomas nodded.

“Your grandfather, huh?”

Thomas looked up in surprise.

“I could see it in the way he moved. Is he...?”

“No, but the letter was his last greeting. I just know.”

“Damn! If we could only leave the dockyard and find a good tavern!”

“No sense in wishing,” Thomas shrugged.

“I’ll think of something for tonight!”

Over the day, there were a few moments when Thomas caught himself falling into his morose mindset again, but he willed it away. He realised that his grandfather would not want him to mope and moan. He had shed his tears the evening before, and now it was time to man up.

Right after supper, Robert led him away from the mess hall and towards the rear of the main wing. They had to be near the brewery, Thomas thought, when Robert led him into a low room furnished roughly with wooden tables and benches. On one table sat a wooden cask, and there were earthen pint mugs, too.

Slowly, a number of his class mates trickled it, those who were in his small circle of trusted mates, and hands clapped his shoulders in gestures of sympathy. When all were accounted for, Robert began to fill mugs with ale from the cask, handing the drinks to others who passed them around until each of them had one sitting in front of him. Then, he raised his mug.

“Let’s raise the glasses!”, and when they all raised their glasses, Robert intoned solemnly. “To a great sailor and officer! Here is to Captain William Grey, Royal Navy!”

There was a small chorus of answers before they took long draughts of the amber ale. Then Godfrey Gurr spoke up.

“To the old sailors who came before us, and may we match their valour and deeds!”

Thomas listened and watched with moist eyes, marvelling how Robert had organised this. Finally he asked and Robert grinned.

“It’s old Henessey, the master brewer. He sure likes his own ale, but he also likes spirits. The latest package from home included two bottles of Kilmarnock whisky from our lands. For one of them, Henessey set this up for us.”

“You’re a damn good friend, Robbie!” Thomas exclaimed, smiling for the first time again. “May I ask you all to drink once again to my grandfather, Captain William Grey, Royal Navy?”

Seven rather drunk scholars sneaked up to their rooms long before lights out that evening, and were out like lights themselves, sleeping off a quart or more of ale.

Waking up, Thomas’s head hurt a little, but that went away over breakfast. During the morning classes, Thomas made the plan to write an answering letter to his grandfather, thanking him for all his guidance and magnanimous support. He also resolved not to mention the club membership. It would not do for his parents or the servants to find that letter. He would also wish his grandfather reprieve from the gout and other ailments during the coming Spring. Some information about his classes would also be added.

Thus, after supper, Thomas sat down with inkwell, quill and paper sheet, and began to write. It was close to lights-out when he was finished and covered the still wet ink with fine sand for faster drying, and he folded and sealed the letter before he turned in. In the morning, before classes, Thomas handed the sealed letter to Mister Bayly’s secretary, with a shilling for the postage, and he was assured of the speedy processing.

This being a Friday, Thomas battled with his conscience over the question of paying the first visit to the Sea Rover Club. There was no question that the old captain wanted Thomas to use the club, to learn the ars amatoria, but also as reward. On the other hand, was is not a sacrilege to seek the pleasures of the flesh whilst his grandfather was fading away?

Still, he obtained permission to visit the Duke from the headmaster, claiming that his uncle had tasked him with passing greetings to his old friend, Captain Harrison. Harrison patted his shoulder and handed over the permission to leave the Dockyard, signed by Admiral Moorbanke himself, for the headmaster, with a pass for Thomas to get past the sentries.

“Thank you, Sir. You are very understanding.”

“Be nice and considerate to those lovelies, Mister Grey,” Harrison smiled back. “To lock youngsters away without female contact will only foster unnatural desires.”

After mulling the dilemma for two days, Sunday afternoon found an excited Thomas in front of the club. The outside did not look very prestigious. Swallowing his misgivings and a bit of fear, he worked the brass knocker. The door was opened and Thomas saw a stout man of middling age, wearing a broadcloth coat, white breeches and a bicorne hat.

“How may I help you, young Sir?”

“I ... ah ... I ... want ... wish to speak to Miss C-caroline. The name’s Grey, Thomas Grey.”

“Very good, Sir. Let me consult our members list.” He opened a ledger and leafed through the pages. Down, on the last written page, his searching finger came to a stop, and he turned back to Thomas with a polite smile. “Welcome, Mister Grey. If you will follow me to the tea room?”

Nodding mutely, Thomas followed the man along a short hallway, and then into a well appointed parlour to the left where three young women were eyeing him curiously. Taking a deep breath, Thomas bowed to them politely.

“Thomas Grey, Madams, at your service.”

This set them off into giggling, but one of them, a very pretty blonde woman of perhaps twenty-and-five years, smiled at him.

“Welcome, Mister Grey. Are you Old Willie’s grandson?”

Blushing pink, Thomas nodded, unable to speak with his mouth hanging open at the sight of the blonde, who was wearing a dress the like of which Thomas had never seen. It was off-white and almost translucent, giving Thomas a pretty good idea of the blonde’s proportions. She was rather tall, almost matching Thomas’s 5ft9in height, but she was more slender even than he.

“Don’t worry, young Mister Grey. We don’t bite — much,” the last words were followed by gay laughter into which her companions joined.

Thomas regarded them next. They were smaller than the blonde, and more buxom, but still prettier even than Harriet-Anne Paddington. One had dark brown hair, curled into ringlets, light brown eyes and a wide mouth. The other had reddish brown hair tied back and reaching down to the small of her back. Her eyes were greenish, Thomas thought, but he was not too sure. Somehow his perception was unclear with his eyes darting back and forth between the women.

Then an older woman entered, wearing a burgundy dress and carefully arranged blonde hair. Thomas could still see the beauty of her younger years in her features, but her body was that of a stout matron. She returned Thomas’s gaze and inspected him in turn.

“Ah, here is our young Tomcat!” she smiled with mirth. “Welcome to the Sea Rover, my dear young man. We heard a lot about you from your dear grandfather. You favour him a little, doesn’t he, girls?”

“A pea from the same pod for sure,” the blonde grinned. “Faith, aren’t you a handsome lad?”

Thomas shook the cobwebs from his brain. “I ... I’m no match for you ladies. I’m just a stupid boy.”

“Handsome and modest will get you far with my girls, young Tomcat,” the older woman laughed. “But where are my manners? Girls, this is Mister Thomas Grey. He’s only fourteen, but he fought and lived through sea battles already, and that makes him a man by my reckoning. Mister Grey, the tall blonde is Maybelle, our dark haired beauty is called Isabeau, and our redheaded firebrand is named Ginger.”

In stammered words, Thomas assured them of his enchantment.

“I presume that this is your first visit to a gentleman’s club?”

Thomas nodded. “Yes, Madame. I haven’t been with women or girls, not, you know ... I’m only now g-growing hair ... down there ... you know?”

Mistress Caroline smiled and the girls laughed gaily, but it was Miss Maybelle who stepped forward and took him by his hands. “You know, we cannot have club members ignorant in the ways of the flesh, don’t you? Fortunately, that lack of knowledge is easily cured, and it’s even great fun. You want to come along, Tomcat? I’ll be your first kitty and I promise not to scratch!”

Thomas, his face deep red, let the blonde Miss Maybelle lead him from the parlour and up a flight of stairs, to her room, where Thomas, over the course of four hours, came to rate her as his favourite instructor by far.

When he left Maybelle’s room, he felt very much like a man. His tutoress accompanied him, and Thomas felt a little sorry for her, seeing how she walked gingerly at his side.

“I’ll be more gentle next time, Miss Maybelle,” he whispered, but her beaming smile set him at ease again.

“You’re a dear boy, Thomas, but next time, you’ll have to take Isabeau or Ginger. You mustn’t get attached to me, you know? My life is here, and it’s not a bad life at all. Your life will bring you together with a fitting bride, and I’d wager that you’ll make her happy. I can never be that bride, Thomas. Let’s just have fun together every third Sunday, and in between, you can have fun with the other girls. Just a warning: leave Isabeau for last. You’ll need some more practice to keep up with her!”

With that, she kissed him one more time and then shooed him out.

“Thomas, what happened to you yesterday? You never said a word, you just came in, washed and turned in.”

Robert Bryce was clearly worried. They were having breakfast in the mess hall with the rest of their mates. Thomas had come in late the evening before. After leaving the Sea Rover, he had wandered the streets, full of a completely new feeling. It wasn’t love. He knew that Maybelle would consort with every club member requesting her. It was a feeling of absolute bliss. Thomas Grey was not a boy anymore; he was a man now. He finally knew most of the answers to the questions he’d had about women, or so he thought.