Chapter 1: Going To Sea

February 1800

“Thomas, time for dinner. Wash your hands and put your shirt back in!” Mary could be heard.

Mary was the Greys’ housemaid and part of her duties were to keep Thomas clean and out of mischief. Young Thomas was unwilling to give up his toys for the formal supper downstairs. At his birthday, almost a year ago, he had received a beautifully carved and painted model ship, fashioned after one of the modern fifth-rate frigates, and just now, HMS Arethusa, 38, under her famous captain, Sir Thomas Grey, was fighting off pirates in the South Sea. He was loath to return to being ten-year-old Thomas Grey and to take supper with his family.

Thomas was an only child and living with his father and mother in his grandfather’s manor house outside Guildford. His father, Theodore Grey, was at home for a change. He had been 1st lieutenant in the Nymphe frigate, but she’d been paid off for repairs. He was at home now, waiting for his next orders. His mother, Margaret, kept his grandfather’s household and doted on her son whilst Theodore Grey was at sea, but reunited with her husband for once, she focussed on him, hoping against hope to have another child.

When Thomas had cleaned up and entered the dining room downstairs, he found his chair at his grandfather’s side, sitting opposite his father and mother, and being responsible for cutting his grandfather’s meat. Captain William Grey was old for his rank, over 60 already, and suffered from gout and rheumatism after a lifetime at sea. He had been posted as captain after the Battle of the Saints, almost 18 years ago, but his ship was paid off soon after, and he had been on half pay ever since, getting older and sicker. Still, the stories he told young Thomas about sailing the Seven Seas, about fighting French and Spanish men of war and even pirates, were the main inspiration for his playing, and he was fluent in sailor’s argot, even more so than in French, which a tutor tried to teach him twice a week.

The old man looked at his grandson with affection but also with a little sadness, before he said grace. The Grey household was not particularly religious, but the old captain had built a small chapel on his lands for the tenants and paid at least lip service to the Church of England.

A soup was served first, which Thomas ladled eagerly, for playing in his unheated room in the still chilly weather had cooled him off. For the main course, he diligently cut up the roast meat for his grandfather, whose left hand was rendered useless by rheumatism. He cut it up fine, too, for the old captain had lost many teeth to the scurvy¹, back in the days before James Lind’s² discovery of the antidote against the disease, lemon juice, was put to use.

“Good boy,” he smiled at Thomas. “Now listen up, Tommy, my boy, for the news your father has.”

A little surprised, Thomas looked at his father, a man who had played a very small role in his life so far, having been mostly at sea since the war had started six years ago.

“Yes, Thomas, I have news that will also affect you. I received my orders today. The Admiralty has given me the command over the Cormorant sloop³, a fine, full-rigged ship of sixteen guns, and appointing me a master and commander.”

Thomas nodded, understanding the significance. His father was now in command of his own ship and would be addressed as captain, even though he had not been posted to a rated ship. Even so, commanding his own ship was a big step for a man from the Surrey gentry.

“That is good, Father, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Thomas, that is good,” Theodore Grey smiled. “Has your grandfather told you when I joined the Royal Navy?”

Thomas nodded, the reason for the question dawning on him.

“Yes, Father, when you turned eleven. Can I join you in your new ship?”

The two men at the table smiled proudly, but Thomas could see that his mother was close to tears.

“Yes, my boy, I’ll take you in my crew. You’ll be rated a captain’s servant and you’ll answer to my steward. I’ll try to find our old wardroom steward, Tim Bartleby, and make him my steward. He’s a good man. In your spare time, you’ll take lessons with the bosun⁴ and the sailing master, to make a sailor out of you.”

“Sailing in a small ship will teach you well, Tommy,” Grandfather William smiled toothlessly, patting Thomas’s hand. “That’s how your father and I learned seamanship, and my father before me. You’ll do us proud, Grandson!”

Suddenly, Thomas remembered something. “Who’ll cut your meat, Grandfather, when I’m at sea?”

“One of the maids will, Tommy. It’ll never taste as good as when you do it, but I’ll be proud to know that you’re off serving our good King George.”

Finally, Thomas remembered his mother. She was clearly fighting her tears, and Thomas felt guilty.

“I’ll be good, Mother, I promise.”

“I know you will, my darling. I’ll miss you for certain.” She looked at his father. “Cannot it wait for another year, Theo?”

His father looked at her guiltily. “Better now, my dear. Once he has two years seagoing service, we’ll let him join the Naval Academy in Portsmouth, and he can be a midshipman at sixteen, a much better start than what I or Father had. You can visit him in Portsmouth and he’ll be home for the holidays whilst at the Academy. It is the best for his future.”

“I know that you only want the best for him. I shall get over it,” Margaret Grey sighed heavily. “How much time have we to fit him out?”

“Cormorant was laid up. I have to commission her, find a crew and have her provisioned. Two months on the outside; five to six weeks are more likely.”

“What uniform will he need?”

“None. He’ll be my cabin servant. White slops⁵, a pair of reefer jackets, sea boots, a warm watch coat, and some warm undergarments. The purser has a slop chest where we’ll find whatever else he might need.”

“What about my things, Father?”

“I am sorry, my boy. Your toys stay here. There will be no time for playing. Take along a book or two, but most of your reading will be books about seamanship, and you’ll have little idle time.”

Thomas nodded, understanding what his father was saying: his childhood was over.

Time was flying in the next two weeks. Four weepy-eyed women assembled his clothing and a few possessions in an old, mahogany wood sea chest, his grandfather’s. His grandfather’s double-barrelled pistol with the beautiful cherry-wood stock was in that chest too, as was the old man’s dirk and sailor’s knife. Those weapons made it more than clear to Thomas that dangers beyond a fall from the old apple tree were in his future.

Mary, the servant, gave him a quick instruction in sewing and mending, and a small sewing kit to take along, another reminder of his new life, where he was responsible for his clothing. He also learned from Cook how to roast and grind coffee beans for his father, how to prepare a porridge, and how to fry eggs, not to forget how to clean a frying pan with water and sand. He would be his father’s servant, after all.

Young Thomas was kept so busy that he found no time for worrying, falling into his bed completely tired out every evening. Then, four weeks after that fateful supper, and after a tearful goodbye from his mother, his grandfather in his splendid captain’s coat took him into Guildford, and when the post chaise to Portsmouth left, the two of them climbed aboard. Two other Navy officers, a young captain of less than three years seniority and an elderly lieutenant were already sitting in the coach, and both greeted Captain Grey with the proper deference. Young Thomas, by contrast, was invisible to them, and that was fine with him, as he tried to be unobtrusive.

Arriving in Portsmouth in the late afternoon, William Grey led his grandson to an ale house for supper where Thomas had thin ale with his half of a mutton pie. The food was rich and plentiful, and the atmosphere was distinctly naval. All around them, Navy officers and warrant officers were enjoying food and ale, and the conversations that flowed around the tables centred on the promotions after the Battle of the Nile and on the aftermath of the mutinies in the Channel Fleet. To a ten-year-old, this was quite daunting to understand, but William Grey explained things to him with great patience.

They spent the night in a fine inn close to the harbour and in the next morning, after a fine breakfast — Thomas cut his grandfather’s food likely for the last time — they walked to the waterfront, accompanied by a porter with a wheelbarrow and Thomas’s sea chest. From there, a four-oar jolly boat transported them out to where HMS Cormorant was lying at anchor and fitting out.

The sloop was already shipping her topmasts and topgallant masts, and the rigging was swarming with sailors bringing up the running rigging, as William Grey explained to his grandson.

“She’s a right smart looking ship, my boy, and your father should be proud of her. Eight gun ports to a side, and she’s mounting carronades on her quarterdeck and fo’c’sle⁶. Not bad at all, my boy! A little short of hands I’d say, but Theodore still has four or five weeks to collect more. You’ll do well in her, my boy.”

“Those masts, Grandfather, they’re really high!”

“Likely a hundred feet to the masthead, my boy. Over time, you’ll have to learn to climb up there to set sails and splice cordage. The bosun will teach you. Don’t worry; he’ll make sure not to lose his captain’s son,” the old man chuckled.

“I’ll try, grandfather. Is she carrying big guns?”

“Just six-pounders, my boy, pop guns, for the most. I reckon she’s also shipping twelve-pounder carronades. Those don’t count for her rating, but add weight to her broadside at close quarters.”

Over these explanations, the jolly boat had almost reach the sloop and was challenged.

“Boat ho!”

“Aye-aye!” the cox’n hailed back, lifting six fingers to signal the approach of a post-captain and causing quite a turmoil on the sloop’s deck. Careful not to ruffle feathers, William Grey waited until the crew stood ready before he ordered the cox’n to hook on. Thomas jumped up, eager to climb up the Jacob’s ladder, but a hissed command from his grandfather made him stop.

“Thomas, you’re just a ship’s boy now. Never enter through the port, and never ahead of an officer!” The old captain was all discipline now. “Wait here and climb aboard through a gunport, understood?”

Thomas understood. He stood straight, as much as the swaying jolly boat allowed, and rapped his first “Aye-aye, Sir!”.

“Good boy! Wait until the bustle dies down, then find your way on board.”

With that, he laboriously climbed up the ladder with his right hand only, but eschewing the bosun’s chair. From what young Thomas could see, six boys stood to both sides of the entry port whilst two pipes shrilled as Captain Grey came aboard and was greeted by his son and junior in rank.

“Welcome aboard, Sir,” Thomas heard his father say, but then a gun port opened and a friendly face peeked through.

“You the captain’s son, Thomas?” the face asked.

“Yes, Sir.” Thomas squeaked.

The man chuckled. “Just call me Bartleby. I’m your father’s steward. Give me a hand, and I’ll pull you up!”

Thomas did and quite unceremoniously entered his new life as a sailor. Bartleby stood there hunching a little, with the quarterdeck beams just five feet above the main deck.

“Come aft with me, my lad. You’ll sling your hammock with me and Clifton, the secretary. Where’s your dunnage?”

“Ah ... still in the jolly boat, Mis ... Bartleby.”

“Heya, lads, hoist up the boy’s chest, will you!”

One of the oarsmen complied, and Thomas dragged his sea chest aft, following Bartleby.

“Don’t scratch the deck, boy!” Bartleby hissed in alarm, but then he understood. “Too heavy, huh? Lemme give you a hand!”

With Bartleby’s help, Thomas was able to carry the heavy mahogany chest one deck below and then aft. There, just forward of the gunroom, the mess for the master’s mates and midshipmen, was a tiny cabin barely accommodating two hammocks, a foldable table and two stools

“We’ll put another hammock in here. You’re small, and it’ll fit. Clifton snores sometimes, but at least he don’t fart much.”

Thomas giggled over that, but he stowed his sea chest away and followed Bartleby up to main deck and then to the quarterdeck where they found William and Theodore Grey.

“Your new servant is ready, Sir,” he announced to Thomas’s father.

“Thank you, Bartleby. Where’d you find a berth for him?”

“With Clifton and me, Sir. He’ll fit in right fine, Sir.”

“Excellent! Once Captain Grey has left, show him to the cabin and explain his duties.”

William Grey took this as his cue.

“I had better return to shore, Theodore. Thomas, the best of luck for you. Learn your duties, my boy, and make your father and me proud. Oh, your father has your birthday gifts.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Thomas answered, aware that his grandfather was a lofty captain aboard a Royal Navy ship. He got his head patted in return.

“Now give your grandfather a hug, my boy!”

Thomas did and was surprised at the trembling the old man showed. Looking up, he saw tears in his eyes, and he felt a lump in his own throat.

“I’ll be good, Grandfather, I promise.”

“I know you will, Grandson. Theodore, look after him well and bonne chance with your fine ship!”

The two men hugged briefly, and then the old captain left the ship amidst the twitters of the bosun’s pipes. When he was gone, Theodore Grey pushed his only child aft and towards the cabin, with Bartleby following.

The after cabin in Cormorant was tiny, but the furniture and fixings his father had brought made it look cosy enough.

“This is where you’ll serve at first, Son. Bartleby will show you what to do. Mister Hanson, the bosun, will teach you seamanship whenever there’s time. When we’re at quarters, you’ll serve as powder monkey on the quarterdeck. This afternoon, I’ll have someone show you the ship from the quarterdeck down to the hold, so you’ll know your way to the magazine.”

“Aye-aye, Sir?” Thomas tried.

“When we’re alone, call me Father. Answer with aye-aye only when I give you an order, understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Thomas smiled with relief.

“I’m also here for you if something bothers you or if you are afraid, savvy that?”

“Yes, Father. Just not when we’re at stations, right?”

Theodore Grey laughed proudly. “We’ll make a tar our of you in no time, right Bartleby?”

“Aye, Sir. Will he eat with you, Sir?”

“Supper, yes, if possible. He should eat with his mess mates during the day and on watch.”

“Aye, Sir. Should I spread the word to curb the cursing?”

Theodore Grey looked at his son. “Did your grandfather teach you curses?”

Thomas grinned. “Aye, he bloody well did!” he answered cheekily, wisely starting with a mild swearword.

“He’ll learn to curse anyway,” Theodore Grey answered Bartleby’s question. “Another thing, Thomas: your mother told me that you were doing well in school?”

“Yes, Father. I can read and write. Grandfather made me read the London Gazette for him and the Surrey Herald, too.”

“What about your numbers?”

“I can count to a thousand, but I can add and subst ... subtract, too. I can mol ... multiply some.”

“That’s quite good already, Son. My secretary, Clifton, will teach you and the gunroom boys more reading and writing when there’s spare time for you and him. The purser will teach you calculating and the sailing master will show you how to shoot the sun. No doubt, the Academy will teach you some more, but you better join there with some knowledge already, and with seagoing time as well.”

Thomas swallowed quickly. There really would be no time to play anymore.

“I’ll do my best, Father.”

“I know you will. Go now and help Bartleby stowing the cabin stores!”

That was an order, Thomas knew, and he answered properly, “Aye-aye, Sir!”

Over the next days, Thomas was busy learning how and where to do and find things. He also learned to ignore the taunts directed at him when he was outside the confines of the after cabin. He was the youngest person on board the Cormorant, but not the smallest. Two of the powder monkeys — ship’s boys — were both smaller and scrawnier than Thomas, who had never known real hunger, let alone starvation in his life, something his young shipmates knew well. He was also wearing better fitting clothes of good quality, making him stand out. Fortunately for him, he had not been tutored at home but had attended school in Guildford, and he had learned to give taunts as well as take them. He could also match those urchins swearword for swearword, courtesy of Captain William Grey’s private tutoring, something that amused the older sailors to no end, at least until the bosun, Mister Hanson gathered the ship’s boys, all eight of them, and showed them the knotted stick which he used on naughty boys’ behinds.

“Stop that mischief, or I’ll make you hug the gunner’s bride⁷!” he threatened. “You’re all shipmates, Cormorants even, and I’ll not let you pick on each other. Understood?”

Sufficiently cowed, they chorused their “Aye-aye, Mister Hanson”.

“Now sit down, and I’ll teach you the bowline hitch!”

Hanson produced some cordage and had them tie bowline knots, and when they mastered that, he added the running bowline and the French bowline. Bowline knots and eye splices were something Thomas had already learned from his grandfather, and he helped his shipmates with those tasks.

“How come you know them knots so good,” Willie Smith, a twelve-year-old boy asked him under his breath.

“My Gramps taught me since I was six.”

“He a sailor?”

“He’s a captain. Fought at the Saintes under Rodney. He’s old and stays at home,” Thomas whispered back, still repeating the running bowline.

“Gor blimey! You be a cap’n, too?”

“That or crab food,” Thomas answered with assumed bravado.

“Damn, you’ll be good. How’s your father as a cap’n?”

“Wouldn’t know; he’s been away all the time. He’s never drunk though and I reckon that’s good.”

“Aye, my old man, he’s mean when drunk. That’s why I runs away and joins here.”

“You, Smith and Grey, do your knots and keep a still tongue!” Hanson cut in.

“Yes, Mister Hanson!” both boys answered and kept their mouths shut afterwards. Still, when the lesson finished, they both nodded to each other before they tended to their tasks. Thomas went aft and was put to work peeling potatoes for his father’s supper. That finished, Bartleby sent him to find the purser’s steward, the petty officer who doled out provisions, to draw rations for the after cabin and the mess formed by Bartleby, Clifton and Thomas, but also the wardroom and gunroom stewards. Whilst Bartleby cooked the supper, refining the foods with herbs and other good things from the cabin stores, Thomas was tasked with setting the table in the cabin and with drafting his father’s ale for supper. When the food was ready, Thomas then served his father whilst Bartleby and Clifton ate their shares down in the small cabin. After serving the captain, Thomas was allowed to bring his own, smaller share of the supper to the table and to join his father.