Chapter 23: The Exams

“Listen, Thomas. You’re not angry with me, are you?”

Thomas looked up. He had been in thought as the stage coach swayed and rumpled over the road to Portsmouth.

“What did you ask?”

“Are you angry with me about ... Miss Harriet-Anne?”

Thomas considered the question and then shook his head. “I am not sweet on her. I have to admit that she’s changed for the better, and she talks sense now. She’s also very pretty. Go ahead and write her letters.”

“Won’t your mother be disappointed in me?”

“Robbie, chances are you won’t ever see her again. Who knows where we’ll be next Christmas?”

On New Year’s morning, after breakfast, whilst the elder Greys and Paddingtons said their good-byes, Robert had asked Harriet-Anne whether he might write to her, and with a slight blush and smile, she had agreed. In Thomas’s eyes, it would be a fruitless undertaking. Harriet-Anne was sixteen years of age already, the same as Robert, but he’d be at least twenty before getting commissioned, and she’d be a spinster before he could hope for the command of a ship and the resulting eligibility to woo a bride.

“I think she is special,” Robert maintained.

“Then you must do as you promised,” Thomas answered evenly.

“Aye, I shall,” Robert answered. “What shall I write to her?”

“How shall I know about it?” Thomas asked back. “Tell her the truth, that you cannot get her out of your mind. She’ll like that.”

“What if she’s not allowed to answer?”

“You’ll find out, Robbie. I don’t know. I’ve only written thrice to Alice Houghton, but we’re not sweet, just friends.”

After a few more minutes of Robert’s fretting, Thomas managed to steer their talk to being 1st-classmen now and likely having their exams not four months hence. By summer, both of them might be gone to sea already.

Arriving in Portsmouth, they eschewed finding rooms in public houses, but they rather reported in the Ville de Bordeaux hulk of Captain Conway, spending the night as guests in small cots off the hulk’s wardroom. This gave them all the freedom to come and go. The moored ship was easily accessible by gangplank since she was only hosting officers.

Conway treated the cold young men to a dinner in his cabin, together with his grizzled 1st lieutenant. Here was a man who had never lived on the shore, having been born on a collier brig as the master’s son, and being raised there until he turned eleven and started as a ship’s boy in the Heron sloop of war. Now, Mister John Jones was sixty-one years old, and he had truly sailed the seven seas in his fifty years with the Royal Navy. He was a fount of sailor’s yarn, eclipsing even the worthy Mister Potter, whom Thomas had met over two years before.

They slept well enough in their tiny cabins with their latticed doors, with braziers warming the wardroom. Twice during the night, fresh coals were added from the galley fire by an old rating.

They had breakfast with Conway in his magnificent cabin. It had been furnished lavishly by its original owner, a French capitaine de vaissau, and Conway kept it in good order and repair, maintaining that an equivalent home on shore would be quite costly. Lodging permanently on board, he had been able to save most of his pay and invest in the Sea Rover when that became possible.

This made sense when Thomas thought about it. Conway’s cook and his steward were paid by the purser. He bought his own food and drinks, but Thomas knew that he indulged in wines and ale sparingly, rather consuming teas and tisanes instead. As the captain of a hulk, he drew the same pay as captains in shore appointments, £1.6s per day, more than enough for a bachelor to live comfortably.

They had a Sunday dinner of mutton roast in the Admiral Anson inn, and here, Thomas and Robert insisted on paying the tab. They even chanced to see Mister Bayly on the way out, and Thomas effected the introductions. Conway was wearing his Nº2 uniform, looking resplendent enough to impress Mister Bayly.

“It is so good of you to take two of our most promising young scholars under your wings, Captain.”

“I’m only passing on some of my experiences and teaching them good conduct. I leave the navigation and such to your own, learned efforts,” Conway answered politely. “From what they told me, you and the other masters are far better qualified than I.”

“Scio me nihil scire¹,” Bayly quoted “A wise view of things, Captain.”

“Gnothi seauton²!” Conway countered in Greek, further delighting Mister Bayly.

“Perhaps, my dear Captain, we can entice you to give a lecture for our young scholars at the Academy?”

“With pleasure, my dear Mister Bayly. As captain of a hulked ship, I am the master of my time. Mister Grey and Mister Bryce can notify me when I shall be needed.”

“That is exceedingly kind of you, Captain. I shall identify an appropriate time and let you know. Your servant!”

“And yours, Mister Bayly!” Conway answered. When the headmaster was out of hearing, he smiled at his two protégés. “Shall I lecture about proper conduct in a gentleman’s club? I am afraid that’s the whole of my recent experiences.”

“You may bring along Miss Maybelle, Sir, to help with the presentation,” Thomas suggested cheekily.

“Aye! You’ll be assured of attention and admiration then.” Robert added.

“You rascals! And I even further your depraved schemes!” Conway exclaimed.

“We thank you kindly for it, too,” Thomas concluded, before they set out for the Seas Rover, to get an early start on the subject.

Class schedules changed for them after the holidays. Apparently, they’d had enough lessons by now, and the masters revisited earlier topics and encouraged the scholars to form groups in which to memorise the most salient facts and procedures. They had classes only in the forenoon now, with practical seamanship in the early afternoon, and group work thereafter.

Thomas was in a group with Robert, Albert Watson, their oracle, Jeremy Martins and Godfrey Gurr, and they spent every free minute of the day rehearsing the material. With the examinations ahead, there was no fooling around and slacking off for them. The only thing on which Thomas and Robert insisted, were free Sunday afternoons. During the first weekends, the others in the group kept working on Sundays, but by the end of January, they realised the folly of that and spent Sundays leisurely, too.

When March came along and the weather improved, part of the group efforts were in the rigging and on the deck of the Inspector sloop, where Thomas and Robert gave their friends tutoring in seamanship. Watson in particular was still uneasy in the rigging, and the only remedy for that was practice. The bookish young man dropped into his cot every evening with aching arms and legs, but by late March, he was at least up to the standards.

All that time, Thomas and Robert kept up their visits to the Sea Rover club, but the great excitement was waning. They also realised that soon, those visits would be a thing of the past if they were posted in a seagoing ship. It was this thought that made Thomas remember the offer by Commander Fitzmoran, made after the Oxfoam affair, and he made use of a free hour in his schedule to call at the Royal Dockyard offices. He had to wait in an anteroom, but after a mere quarter hour, Fitzmoran called him in.

“Ah, my insightful young friend,” he was greeted, and he thought this was an auspicious greeting.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” he answered.

“Did you discover any misdeeds or miscreants, Mister Grey?”

“No, Sir, but I was wondering whether you’d still have an opening for me. I should graduate in April, but I would like to extend my stay in Portsmouth until late Summer. I spoke about your offer with my father, and he concurred that a few months on the staff of the Commander-in-Chief, Portsmouth, would give me a valuable experience for later.”

“That may not be entirely wrong. I already learned that Admiral Moorbanke has a good opinion of you. Let me speak to the Chief of Staff. I can use a bright young man to help me with my duties, but those would not fill out your time. Perhaps, we can arrange for some additional tasks on the staff. I shall let you know soonest.”

“Thank you, Sir, and thank you for your time. I shall await your answer.”

“You do that, Mister Grey! I also wish you good luck in your examinations.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Thomas said one last time, retreating from the office with a hopeful smile on his face. Four months on Moorbanke’s staff would also mean four months of visits to the Sea Rover. He had a bit of a bad conscience, not aiming for a shipboard posting immediately, but the prospect of continued dalliances was too tempting.

Examinations started right on April 1st, a Monday, and the first subject was Astronomy, Bayly’s subject. In addition to the headmaster, Mister Johnson and Captain Sir Henry Haversham were sitting in on the oral exams. Not all student scholars had been admitted to the early exams, but Thomas was one of them, and he acquitted himself well in the exam, as Mister Bayly confirmed after a half hour. In the end, he attained the Nº2 rank in Astronomy, only behind Watson. Robert passed, too, and so did Gurr, but for Jeremy Martins, the early exams were over.

On the second day, they were tested in Arithmetics, not Thomas’s best subject, but he passed as Nº 5, with Robert as Nº 2 and Watson at the top again. Thomas did better on day 3 in Trigonometry, ranking in 3rd place, but almost failed Algebra by the breadth of a hair. He made good for it with his first Nº1 ranking in Writing, even beating out Albert Watson, who had a spelling weakness. The week closed with Fencing, where Thomas earned his second Nº1 rank.

For once, Thomas eschewed his Sunday visit to the Sea Rover, practicing for the last examinations. The second Monday saw and heard them being examined in French. Here, a reversal of fortunes took place, with Thomas and Watson ranked lowest, yet still passing comfortably. On Tuesday, Thomas made Nº 2 in Drawing, producing a credible charcoal rendering of the Inspector sloop, with sufficient detail to recognise the old sloop. Poor Watson almost failed in this subject, finishing last in the ranking, but Robert earned his first Nº1 spot.

Wednesday saw the most important test, Navigation. Here, Thomas’s group work paid off, since all four of them — Martins had failed Astronomy — passed with perfect scoring, much to Mister Folger’s delight.

On Thursday, Captain Haversham tested their common knowledge, such as ranks in Navy and Army, the line of Royal succession, the composition and rules of Parliament, and the structure of the Royal Navy. Nobody failed here, much to the Lieutenant Governor’s satisfaction.

Friday’s examinations required outside help. Mister Tolley, the new Dancing and Fencing Master, brought in a string quartet, but also seven young ladies, daughters of officers and dockyard officials, for the Dancing exam. One of them was Alice Houghton, of all people.

The mess hall had been cleared for this and the partners were allocated for the first dance, waiting for the music to start. Thomas knew that he was not a good dancer, and he was nervous. As luck would have it, his partner, Miss Wellstone, was even worse, and they stumbled through the five dances without the least bit of grace, often missing steps.

In the end, Mister Tolley announced his judgement.

“Mister Grey, this was an atrocious display. Much as I regret this, I must fail you in this subject!”

Thomas let his head hang when he heard this, but Captain Haversham raised his hand.

“Hold on, Mister Tolley. We shall not fail a student scholar on account of Dancing only. Mister Grey is tied for the top rank in his class, and to hold him back would be a disservice to him and the Navy.”

“Yet, this is my subject, and I fail him,” came the obstinate answer.

“No student ever failed in Dancing when Mister Oxfoam taught it,” Haversham gave back caustically and with meaning. Tolley’s appointment was an acting one, and the Dancing Master paddled backwards immediately.

“Ahem, we might give him a second chance, perhaps with a different partner. Sometimes partners do not match well.”

“I shall do it,” Alice Houghton announced decisively, already stepping forward. “The first music, please!”