Chapter 7: The Squirrel

HMS Squirrel was a Porcupine class post-ship, launched in 1785, of 560 tons burthen, a length of 119 ft and a 32 ft beam, and rated at 24 guns. Unlike other ships of her class, she was still carrying 22 nine-pounder guns as her main armament, plus two twelve-pounder carronades on her quarterdeck. She had a complement of 160 officers and ratings and — most importantly — she was commanded by a full captain, a ‘post-captain’.

On the downside, she was neither a ‘happy ship’ nor a ‘lucky ship’. Her first lieutenant — she had three commissioned officers on board — was an ill-humoured man of over forty years who greeted his new captain with a degree of arrogance.

“Welcome aboard, Sir. Let me show you around first.”

Theodore Grey would have none of this.

“May I have your name first, Mister?” he fairly snapped, causing an angry scowl in the face of the presumed first lieutenant.

“I am William Jones, Sir, senior lieutenant.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mister Jones. Kindly call all hands now!”

“Shouldn’t we first...”

“All hands, Mister Jones.” Theodore Grey interrupted him with calm emphasis.

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Jones turned to the midshipman of the watch. “All hands, Bromley!”

Thomas saw his father’s eyebrows raise at this casual address to a young officer. Meanwhile, the free watch was pouring up from the decks below and formed divisions on deck. The twenty Marines Squirrel shipped formed file on the quarterdeck, where the wardroom officers also assembled.

“All hands on deck, Sir,” Jones announced.

“Thank you, Mister Jones,” the captain answered calmly, before turning to the assembled crew and unfolding his orders. “Orders given to me, Captain Theodore Grey, by Rear Admiral John Duckworth, Commander in Chief of the Leeward Islands Station. ‘Sir, you are herewith requested and required to take command of His Majesty’s Ship Squirrel of 24 guns, anchored at English Harbour, and to ready her for sailing.’ Given on August the 25th, in the Year of our Lord 1801, HMS Leviathan, English Harbour, Antigua.”

Theodore Grey looked around.

“I was informed that this ship had a run of poor luck. Gentlemen, you men, I do not believe in poor luck. Poor luck is an excuse for lack of training and lack of dedication, both of which I intend to correct. When we shall complete our first cruise, this will be a well-performing ship again, with no good luck involved either, but with hard work and much drill put forward. Those of you hoping to continue in the previous fashion will have a hard awakening, for substandard performances will not be tolerated in my ship.

“Now, if everybody performs his duties, you have a good chance to become as lucky as my previous ship in which we, my officers and crew, won over £18,000 in prize moneys on her last two cruises alone. For those who don’t know, every seaman in the Cormorant can expect over £40 when those monies will be paid out. No luck, just dedication to duties. We shall begin with those drills tomorrow, and we shall continue until we shall need no silly excuses for poor seamanship!”

Thomas saw the officers gape at his father, too shocked to hide their feelings. A feeling of dread came over him at the same time. He was well aware that an angered crew would pick on him mercilessly, and there would be no Tim O’Leary to shield him. Theodore Grey saw the effect of his words, too, and he showed a tight smile.

“Mister Jones, dismiss the men, and then show me to my cabin!”

Even twelve-year-old Thomas noticed the omission of any polite phrases in that order, and he realised that under his calm demeanour, his Father had to be furious. He then looked at Mister Jones and saw that he had less control, for he showed an angry scowl on his reddened face. He looked at the other former Cormorants and was surprised at the mirth showing in their faces. Led by Clifton, the secretary, they followed their captain aft and into the day cabin. Entering, they could already hear Jones’s voice.

“ ... must protest against...”

“Mister Jones, if you expect politeness from me, you had better show politeness first. You addressed a junior officer, Mister Bromley, as if he were your dog! As senior officer it behooves you to set a good example in manners, yet you cannot even be polite to your captain. I shall have you know that before my command of the Cormorant sloop, I was the first lieutenant in a fifth-rate for three years. Never in those three years dared I to speak to my captain as you did in your first words. I am not a whale for ceremonial, Mister Jones, but you are my subordinate, and you’ll better show it! Moreover, the Admiral made it clear to me that Squirrel does not perform to his expectations. Pray, tell me, how you can expect a promotion when you, as the chief disciplinarian of this ship, show poor discipline yourself? The lacklustre showings of this ship reflect not only on her captain but on yourself.”

“That is an unfair accusation, Sir! I...”

“Then show me that I misjudge you, Mister Jones! I shall be happy to retract my words if you will show the conduct and discipline that I must expect from my Nº1. I suspect that you had not the best captains in this ship, but the wind has veered now and blows into your teeth. You had better fall off and trim your sails to make the most of it.

“Now, let us move forward. Kindly enter Mister James Clifton, captain’s secretary, Timothy Bartleby, my steward, James Wilkerson, my cox’n, and Thomas Grey, captain’s servant, into the muster roll. Thomas Grey is my son, and he will also serve with the other boys when we’re at quarters. Moreover, he will attend the sailing master’s classes with the midshipmen and volunteers.”

“Aye-aye, Sir. Where d’ye want him to berth?”

“With Mister Clifton, Bartleby and Wilkerson. They form a mess.”

“Will you decide on his punishments, Sir?”

“Should he become guilty of any infraction, I shall decide on his punishment. Just as I shall decide on all punishments in this ship, Mister Jones, as specified in the Navy Regulations. Should you feel the need for a punishment, you will report the miscreant to me.”

“Sir, that’s not how these matters are handled in this ship!”

“They are now, Mister Jones. Take a minute when you’re not busy, and read up on the regulations. This ship will be run according to the rules as set up by Their Lordships. Now kindly hand me the muster roll and the punishment records. Afterwards, send in the purser. I shall talk to each of you gentlemen in turn. Once I shall have spoken to all wardroom members and to the bosun, I shall send for you to discuss the matters to be addressed and their order. That is all for now.”

“Very well, Sir! I shall bring the documents.”

“Thank you, Mister Jones.”

Once Jones had left, Thomas was alone with his father.

“He’s trouble, isn’t he, Father?”

Theodore Grey shrugged. “He doesn’t know how thin the ice is on which he’s walking. The Admiral already warned me of him. Just do me the favour, Thomas, and don’t be smart with him. Let him tie his own noose.”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Thomas nodded sombrely. “I better look busy at all times.”

“Don’t look busy, be busy!” Theodore Grey admonished his son sternly. “And no Tomcat business, d’ye hear!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!” Thomas answered, standing to attention. He understood. His father would have his hands full dealing with an obstinate 1st lieutenant without him adding fuel to the flames.

“Now, make me some coffee!”

“Aye-aye, Sir!”

It took a while for Thomas to find coffee beans, roasting pan and the other tools of his duties, before he set out for the pantry. There, he found a swarthy fellow with a peg leg, his head covered by a kerchief. He looked so obviously piratical that Thomas could not help a grin.

“What’s so funny, m’boy? Me leg?”

“No, it’s just that you favour a buccaneer and not a petty officer. I’m Thomas Grey, the captain’s servant. I have orders to brew coffee.”

“Grey, huh? You be the new captain’s kin?”

“I’m his son, but he keeps me running all the same. You the cook?”

“Aye, m’boy. You be called Tom?”

“They called me Tomcat in the Cormorant. What’s your name?”

“Huh? Me name’s Cook, Davy Cook.”

Thomas smiled again. He already liked the fellow. “That’s easy then. May I use the pantry fire, Davy?”

“S’death! You’re a cocky fellow. Yes, go ahead. You have water in that kettle?”

“Yes, we already drew our allotment. I’ll need to roast the beans, too.”

“Go ahead then, Tomcat. How’d you get by that name?”

“I’ve shown claws when needed.”

“You’re the right sort, Tomcat, an’ yore father, the captain, he be what this ship be needing. Be watchful with Jones. He’s mean as a snake.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Davy. I’ll be careful.”

Then, still talking easily to the cook, Thomas roasted the beans as his father liked them. When they were just right, he poured them into the mortar and ground them until they looked like fine gun powder and emptied the grounds into the simmering water in the coffee pot. With that, and with a quick bye to Davy Cook, he rushed aft and up to the quarterdeck, where he was stopped by a harsh address.

“What’s that, boy?” It was Jones, of course.

“Coffee for the Captain, Sir. His orders.” Thomas answered, standing straight at attention.

“Drop that and get into the masthead!”

“Can’t, Sir. The Captain ordered me to bring him coffee, Sir.”

“I’ll bring it myself. Now jump for the ratlines, ye lubber!”

“Begging your pardon, Sir, I have my orders from the Captain.”

“Oh, isn’t that swell? Disobeying my orders? We’ll just see what the Captain will say to that!” Jones laughed gleefully.

“He’ll tell you to mind your duties and not interfere with the running of my cabin!” came the rebuke from Theodore Grey himself, standing in the cabin door. “Bring me my coffee, Thomas! Mister Jones, don’t ever countermand my orders again, be they about coffee or be they about laying a course. Have we an accord, Mister Jones?”

Jones looked fit to burst after getting this very public dressing-down.

“Yes, Sir,” he said with an effort.

“Now, where are the books I ordered you to bring? Where is the purser?”

“You didn’t say immediately, Sir, and...”

“All my orders are obeyed immediately, Mister Jones! See to it now!”

Thomas was already rushing for the safety of the cabin, but he saw some smirks on the part of the quarterdeck hands. Jones had to be unpopular with his irascibility. Inside, he quickly poured the coffee into his father’s favourite mug and stood beside the table, waiting for the next orders.

His father sat down at his desk and took a sip. “You’re getting better at this, Thomas. Listen, you’ll not serve as a ship’s boy in the Squirrel, and not in the rigging either. I don’t trust Jones not to get you into trouble. I’ll assign you to the gig. You can be the bowman. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas answered eagerly. This way he would be away from the ship and from Jones whenever his father was away, too.

“I’ll tell Wilkerson, and he can drill you. Now stay aft with me. I’ll let Bartleby look after the cooking for now.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Thomas answered, feeling dejected. “Cannot you do something about J ... Mister Jones?”

“I believe I can, but I need to meet the other officers. Mayhap he’s not even the worst.”

Serving wine and keeping in the background, Thomas was present when Mister Finch, the purser reported to the captain. He was a thin and austere man, with a long nose that compensated for a lack of a chin. It was as if nature had moulded him on his last name. Yet, for all his bird-like appearance, he presented his Victualling Book and his other documents with calm dignity. Upon questioning by his new captain, he professed to have entered into the Victualling Service to further his true vocation as a naturalist, collecting and studying the Caribbean fauna. Apparently, Theodore Grey found no fault with his accounting.

The next officer was the surgeon, Mister Dugan, a lowland Scot of quiet temperament and faultless habit. He refused the offered wine, but accepted the offer of coffee, which Thomas served immediately.

“Your son, Sir?”

“Yes. He’ll be joining the Naval Academy next year, but he’s getting a solid schooling in seamanship first.”

“How interesting! The best of both systems, one might say, Sir.”

“That is indeed for what we are aiming, Mister Dugan. Pray, are you by chance also versed in herbal lore? We had an outbreak of the yellow fever in my previous ship, and our surgeon, quick as he was with saw and knife, was quite helpless in the face of the fever.”

“I was first apprenticed to my uncle who is a practitioner of herbal medicine, before I aimed at becoming a surgeon, Sir. I know of a few remedies against fevers, but I haven’t yet seen a case of the yellow fever. It’s quite dreadful, isn’t it?”

“My son had it badly and survived only through the ministrations of a Jamaican witch doctor.”

Dugan was interested. “By which means, pray, did she work such a feat, Sir?”

“Thomas, you remember?”

“Yes, Sir. She gave me willow bark teas to lower the fever, but also bathed me in cold well water. That’s what Wilkerson told me afterwards. She teached me the use of some herbs, too, whilst I recovered. She also keeps everything clean, Sir.”

“So she wasn’t just chanting and casting spells. Quite commendable in my view, Sir. I shall endeavour to procure a stock of the willow bark. One just cannot know when it may be needed.”

“Have you any other needs for your sickbay?”

“A cleaning of the bilge is overdue, Sir. The odours from below are not conducive to the healing of sick men.”

“How long since the last fumigation then?”

“It’s nigh on four years, Sir. I asked repeatedly, Sir, but Captain Boudroux was not interested, begging your pardon, Sir.”

“And since he was relieved?”

“You will find, Sir, that Mister Jones does not seek or welcome counsel.”

Thomas saw his father smile. “A pity, that.”

When the surgeon left, Theodore Grey smiled at his son. “For three weeks, Squirrel was at anchor here, and nothing was done to her. I believe Mister Jones will be hard pressed to defend his inactivity. Now be a good boy and fetch Mister Tiernay, the second lieutenant. An Irishman, likely as not.”

Thomas easily found the wardroom where several officers were sitting, engaged in various activities or a lack thereof.

“Mister Tiernay, Sir?” Thomas hailed from the wardroom door.

“Yes, m’lad, what is it?”

“The Captain’s compliments, Sir, and will you come and see him?”

“With pleasure, m’lad,” the man grinned, rising from the table at which he had obviously played chess against himself. He was still quite young, in his mid-twenties on a guess, and he had a ready smile as he followed Thomas out of the wardroom. “And you are, m’lad?”

“Thomas Grey, Sir. Captain’s servant.”

“Related to the Captain?”

“I’m his son, Sir.”

“Is he a good captain?”

“The best, Sir!” Thomas answered with conviction.

“Good answer, m’lad,” Tiernay chuckled, checking the seat of his necktie before announcing himself to the sentry. “Lieutenant Tiernay, reporting to the Captain!”

The sentry repeated the words, and a Theodore Grey’s voice responded as expected.

“Send him in!”

Tiernay proceeded through the cabin door and introduced himself.

“Lieutenant Sean Tiernay, Sir, reporting as requested!”

Slipping in behind Tiernay, Thomas made himself part of the background.

“Thank you, Mister Tiernay. Captain Theodore Grey, at your service!” his father replied politely, looking at some papers on his desk. “You are the second lieutenant, Mister Tiernay?”

“Yes, Sir. Commissioned February ‘98, Sir.”

“I see. You command the main deck, Mister Tiernay. Is there anything about your guns and crews on which you want to comment?”

“The long nines are fitted with flintlocks, Sir, and quite new. Small windage in the breeches, too. The crews are able and willing enough, Sir, but we could use more gun drills. More sail drills, too, if I may say so.”

“I would imagine,” Theodore Grey sighed. “Your second-in-command, Mister Sorger’s commission is recent?”

“Yes, Sir. He passed his examination in April and was commissioned immediately. He followed Mister Partridge, who was invalided when we took St. Bartholomew Island.”

“Is he fitting in well?”

“Yes, Sir, as well as possible. Captain Boudroux did not order gun drills, Sir. If I may, we didn’t perform well at St. Bartholomew, either.”

“And after Captain Boudroux was relieved?”

Tiernay shrugged apologetically. “Please, Sir, I should not comment on a superior.”

Even Thomas understood the implied comment.

“Oh, yes, of course. I believe I understand the situation quite clearly. How do you judge the gunroom?”

“Mister Walley already passed examination and is rated as master’s mate. He’s been going watches since July, Sir. Phillips is a bright lad, but needs another year to try examination, but Clarke is rather hopeless, Sir. He’s got a bee in his bonnet, Sir, seeing how his uncle is a Navy Yard commissioner. He just won’t listen.”

“Did anyone try to set him to rights?”

“I tried, Sir, but I’m just the Nº2, Sir.”

“I believe that I understand this, too, Mister Tiernay. Thank you for your open words. Can you ask Mister Jones now to come aft?”

Tiernay swallowed heavily. “Sir, he took the side boat to the shore, Sir.”

“He did? Do you know why?”

“No, Sir. He’s usually back an hour later.”

“This is a regular occurrence, Mister Tiernay?”

“Yes, Sir. Whenever we’re anchored in English Harbour, he takes his noon meal with Mistress Jones.”

Theodore Grey took a deep breath.

“Does everybody go ashore without notification?”

“No, Sir. We are to ask for permission first, but then, we’re not married.”

“I believe I understand, Mister Tiernay. Kindly have my gig called when you leave.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Tiernay answered, leaving in a hurry.

“Thomas, get ready! You’re with my gig’s crew.”

Not five minutes later, the gig was swung out and manned, with Thomas in the bows, holding on to the chains with the boat hook, when Theodore Grey rushed down the Jacob’s ladder.

“The flagship, Wilkerson!” he ordered, and Thomas unhooked and cast off. He’d had some lessons in boat handling in the Cormorant.

Even to his eyes, the gig’s crew was not too well drilled, often falling behind the stroke and fouling the oar blades. It was slovenly pulling at best.

“Keep the stroke, ye lubbers!” Wilkerson raged. “I’ve seen sodjers doin’ better! You there, Webley, keep the blade upright when you’re lifting it. Is this your first time in the gig, Pegs?”

Thomas, pulling the bow oar, did not see his father behind the bulky oarsmen, but he could imagine his cold rage as they neared the flagship in such undignified manner. Finally, they came close.

“Grey, hook on!” Wilkerson commanded. Quickly, Thomas pulled in his oar and grabbed the boat hook. God, but were Leviathan’s sides high! He caught the chains and pulled the gig close, using its momentum, whilst his father stood and reached for the Jacob’s ladder. Turning his head, he turned to the crew briefly.

“This was the worst pulling I’ve seen in my life. Wilkerson, make use of the time whilst I visit the admiral to bring some order to this slovenly bunch!”

“Ye heard the captain, lads. If I knows the captain, ye’ll miss a week worth of tots¹. Cast off, Grey!”

Thomas unhooked and sat on the thwart again, readying his oar.

“Now, ye’all watch Best. He pulls stroke. When he dips his blade and pulls, so do you. Ready? Pull!”

The first stroke was done in good harmony, but the Nº2 oar was already late for the second stroke. The man screamed when Wilkerson swung his starter² and caught him over the shoulder.

“Ye’re a slow learner, Pegs, but I’ll teach you yet. Will ye keep stroke now?”

“Are ye daft, hittin’ me, ye...”

Wilkerson did not wait for him to finish, laying the starter over his back again with great force.

“Ye’re dumber than shit, Pegs. Keep a still tongue in yer head, ye lubber! Now, let’s try this again, lads. Ready, go!”