Chapter 18: Hail the Head Boy

October 1803

Thomas and his closest mates were in on the trouble brewing on the second story, and they took turns staying awake during the night in case it spilled over into the first storey where their cabins were.

A little while after the bell sounded midnight at St. Thomas, Thomas woke to shuffling sounds from above and then to muffled screams. This went on for quite a while until suddenly, sharp commands could be heard and the noises stopped abruptly. It had to be Mister Peabody who was giving orders, but they also heard Mister Folger. Thomas threw back his blanket and jumped from the bed and into the hallway.

“Up, everybody, up! Get dressed and stand ready!”

A moment later, Mister Folger’s pipe shrilled through the stairwell, the sign for alarm.

“Up and get dressed!” Thomas repeated, himself already wearing trousers and coat over his shirt.

Robert had managed to light a lantern, and in the weak shine of it, the cadets stood for mustering, and not a moment too soon, for Mister Bayly, his hair wild and wearing a great coat over his nightshirt, came in to control their hallway.

“Everything under control, Mister Grey?”

“Yes, Sir. We heard a commotion upstairs, and I ordered all hands up.”

“Very well. I shall need you upstairs, Mister Grey. Come along, if you please!”

“Yes, Sir! Mister Bryce, please keep the order here!”

“Yes, Mister Grey,” Robert snapped, manfully suppressing a grin, and Thomas ascended the stairs in Mister Bayly’s wake.

The third-year hallway was lit by several lights and lanterns, with all the masters present, and the scholars standing at attention in their night shirts. Obviously, Mister Peabody was in charge.

Through an open cabin door, Thomas saw that Henley was sitting on his cot, bleeding from split eyebrows and lips. Around the cot lay a number of knitted stockings with something lumpy inside. Soap bars, Thomas surmised. They had hit the sleeping Henley with stockings filled with soap bars. The big youngster was sobbing, the blood on his face lined by streaks of tears.

Thomas cast a cautious look at Samuel Carlson, who was clearly worried over the looming consequences, but he gave Thomas a shrug.

After taking in the scene, Mister Bayly fixated Carlson.

“What happened here, Mister Carlson?”

Taking a deep breath, the head boy answered.

“Sir, Mister Henley embarrassed the 2nd class today when he showed cowardice. We, the whole class, decided to punish him, Sir.”

“And, pray, how did he show cowardice, Mister Carlson?”

“I was not present during tiffin, Sir, and Mister Grey was supervising in my stead. Mister Henley had been making insulting remarks about Mister Grey for weeks, and when he saw him supervising the mess hall, he insulted and threatened him. From what I was told...”

“Stop there, Mister Carlson. I don’t need second-hand accounts. Mister Grey, what happened?”

“Sir, as Mister Carlson said, Mister Henley called me a spitlicker and showed disrespect. I strongly censured him, and he then threatened to give me a beating.”

“He did?”

“Yes, Sir. I then warned him of the consequences of such an act and stood close to him, facing him down. He relented and returned to his table.”

“Why didn’t you report this?”

“I thought it a minor test of wills and the matter closed, Sir.”

“Reporting it might have prevented this unpleasantness.”

“With respect, Sir, this is hindsight.”

“Yes, of course. Did you hear or sense any outrage on the part of the other cadets.”

“I believe that two of them reenforced what I told Henley, advising him to sit down, Sir.”

Bayly sighed. “I’m not getting anything more out of you, am I?”

“No, Sir.”

“Had you any knowledge of the planned punishment?”

“Nothing definitive, Sir. I saw Mister Henley sitting alone at a remote table during supper and surmised that he had been told off for his attempted insubordination.”

“Damnit, Grey, don’t talk like a sea lawyer!” Peabody told him angrily.

“Tut-tut, Mister Peabody. Mister Grey is not implicated in this unsavoury affair,” Bayly chided the lieutenant. “Mister Carlson, did you lead the attack on Mister Henley?”

Carlson gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes, Sir!”

“And the whole class followed you?”

“With the exception of Henley, yes, Sir.”

“Thank you for the correction, Mister Carlson. Mister Carlson, you and and the young gentlemen committed a grave offence. This sort of vigilantism is uncalled for and a serious violation of the Articles of War and our house rules. It calls for punishment, too. Normally, the punishment would be the expulsion from the Royal Naval Academy. Since I cannot expel the entire class, as you likely calculated, and the guilt is shared by the whole class, you will each receive fifteen demerits.

“Mister Carlson, you also failed in your duty as the head boy when you led a mob against a class mate. I see no choice but to relieve you of that position. With no viable alternative, you will remain class prefect, however.

“This leaves the head boy position open, and I ask Mister Grey to fill it on an acting basis for the remainder of the teaching year. Think you can do it, Mister Grey?”

“Sir, with respect, I’d rather not. I don’t want to profit from Mister Carlson’s misfortune.”

“Don’t be daft, Thomas! Somebody has to, and I can’t. Please, accept. I’ll help you as best I can.”

“You wish to rethink your answer, Mister Grey?”

Thomas was conflicted, but he also saw that nobody else could fill the position, with the entire third-year class discredited. Taking a deep breath, he nodded.

“If I am needed, Sir, I shall do it.”

Head boy at the age of fourteen! What else would be coming his way?

With Carlson’s help, Thomas familiarised himself with his new responsibilities over the next days. He had to patrol the dormitories at reveille, control the lights-out at 2 bells, supervise breakfast, tiffin and supper in the mess hall, and report any rule breaks.

Thomas had to build an accord with the first-year prefect, Peter Melville. He, too, was a replacement of the original prefect, who, although the oldest, never gained any authority. Melville was fourteen years old, stocky, with fiery red hear, freckles, and of a quiet if steadfast disposition. Like Thomas, he was not the best of the 6th class academically, but he was good average in all classes. He was also willing to listen to Thomas and to Carlson if they tried to help him.

The Sundays were not as free for Thomas as before, since he had to be around until after dinner, but he still managed those weekly visits to the Sea Rover. The place was busier now on the Sundays, with the Jewel Box closed down and its majority owner, Phillip Marks, awaiting his execution. The other share owners were leery to step up, owing to the bad reputation the establishment now had. One of the girls from the Jewel Box — Thomas suspected that she was the one who had provided the information leading to Marks’s arrest — was added to the Sea Rover’s roster, but the supercilious Miss Denise had left it for greener pastures, accepting the wooing of a widowed merchant.

The new girl, newly styled Miss Vivienne, was a pretty little thing of seventeen, quite naïve, with blonde hair, a girlish body, and a heart-warming smile. She quite lacked the finesse expected at the Sea Rover, but she was eager to learn. Maybelle used Thomas’s visits to teach Vivienne the lessons she needed, allowing him the exquisite new experience of a menage at trois.

On the third Sunday in October, Thomas had to cancel his plans for an afternoon at the Sea Rover, since his parents visited Portsmouth. Mister Bayly gave Thomas the whole Sunday free and sang his praises to the Greys, since Thomas now found himself amongst the top five in most classes, including Astronomy, Bayly’s own subject, where he ranked a close second. It was only then that Theodore Grey learned of his son’s recent elevation to head boy.

As they strolled the street together, the elder Grey looked at his son with a shake of his head.

“Why’d you never write about being head boy now?”

“It didn’t feel right to boast, Father. Samuel Carlson was a good head boy, and he lost the position because I always have to meddle.”

“How so? Mister Bayly was full of praise.”

Thomas the related his involvement in the capture of Mister Oxfoam’s murderer, the subsequent award of the medal, and Henley’s grudge against him. When he related the nightly punishment of Henley, Theodore Grey shook his head.

“He had to lead, or he would’ve lost his standing, right?” He meant Carlson.

“Yes, Father. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it.”

“Thomas, if what you told us is the unvarnished truth, then no blame attaches to you. You handled an insubordination in an exemplary manner, and whatever hurt pride made those young men want to punish this Henley, was none of your doing. I am not surprised that Bayly picked you as the new head boy. He was likely looking for a pretext anyway. If young Mister Carlson had been a real leader, he would’ve nipped that harebrained attack in the bud. That’s what the Navy looks for in an officer, moral fibre, and the young man, much as you may like him, failed the test.”

Thomas was not sure that he concurred with his father, but it was something to think about. They continued their stroll to Southsea Castle where Theodore Grey studied the ships in the Spithead roads. There was a large frigate with beautiful lines amongst them, and he pointed it out to Thomas.

“That’s the former French Loire, of 44 guns, Father. She was captured right in the Goulet¹ by the Medusa frigate under Captain Carter. Word is she’ll be renamed Clyde and put under his command.”

“Carter ... I somehow know the name.”

“He’s a Jamaican.”