In the Navy
Copyright© 2005/2020 to Argon
Chapter 49: Busying Himself
May, 1811
The rest of the spring went at a calmer pace for the Carters. Tony continued in his efforts to acquire more civilian knowledge from periodicals and from books. The 4th edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica found its way into his study and the twenty volumes served for referencing but also for simple browsing.
Not much was happening in the various war theatres, except for the decisive victory of a small frigate squadron under Captain William Hoste against a superior French force, successfully defending the island of Lissa in the Adriatic Sea against French occupation. Hoste was the hero of the hour, although Tony heard that he had contracted the dreaded mal aria ague and was suffering badly from the frequent bouts of fever. Nevertheless, Tony wrote a letter of felicitation to Hoste, praising his tactical genius.
Come May, the Carters relocated to High Matcham, their country seat in Berkshire. Here, both Tony and Harriet really felt at home, and they enjoyed the peace and the leisure. Of course, newspapers and letters took longer to reach them, but Maidenhead was not too far away from London, and the delay was tolerable.
The steady trickle of prize monies from the captures made in the Mediterranean, but also the dividends from his stake in the Whitney shipping line were giving Tony extra funds which he sought to invest, and together with their caretaker, Mister Brown, he started to look for buying opportunities. He also earmarked funds for the existing estate, improving roads and tenant houses, but also cleaning out drainages.
He was too much of a Navy officer to tolerate deficiencies in his possessions, and he soon took some of the tenants to task over the sloppy execution of their duties to the estate. His goal was nothing less than to transform the estate into the equivalent of a crack frigate, and after some prodding, Mister Brown developed the same ambition. One tardy tenant had to be sent packing, and after that, the others realised the winds of change and pulled their weight.
The village of Matcham also saw changes. The drainage canals were covered with slabs of stone, and refuse was collected and carted out of the village proper and to a disused quarry. Two new wells were dug, well away from the dung heaps of the farm houses, and an apothecary was recruited to tend to the needs of the tenants and their dependents.
All this took some time, but by early autumn, the changes were noticeable, and Tony took pride in the achievements. Two new tenants were given leases for newly acquired parcels of farmland, hopefully increasing the rent returns in the future, but Tony now found himself without new challenges. Therefore, when a letter arrived from Mister Inman, of the Royal Naval College, inviting Tony to give three days of lectures to the cadets, he kissed Harriet good-bye for a week and travelled to Portsmouth.
His old Portsmouth house now belonged to his brother-in-law, but Andrew Lambert had left instructions with his housekeeper, Missus Benson, allowing family members to use it for visits to Portsmouth. After handing Andrew’s housekeeper two pound notes for the additional expenditures, Tony settled in one of the extra bedrooms.
That taken care of, he resolved to take a walk. Strolling through the streets near the quays, he saw a typical sailor’s tavern, the Blue Posts, and he entered it without much thought.
Even in his everyday coat, he saw how much he stood out with his senior captain’s epaulettes amongst a crowd of warrant and petty officers. All talk ceased when the crowd regarded the new entry, and a few of the men showed even grave concern. Tony realised his gaffe and sought to soothe the fears.
“No worries, you good men! I knew a tavern by the name of The Blue Posts in Kingston, Jamaica, and only came in to have a pint of ale. Don’t mind me!”
“It’s Lucky Tony Carter!” an older sailor wearing the reefer’s jacket of a petty officer exclaimed. He realised his audacity. “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Anthony! It’s what the lads call you.”
“Better than Calamity Carter, I should say,” Tony laughed easily. “Landlord, a round of your best ale for these tars!”
This, at last, removed the worries of the men, and they cheered him, only to crowd the bar to get their share of the free ale. The old sailor who had recognised him, brought Tony a mug of ale.
“Thank you, my good man! What be your name?”
“Stevens, Jack Stevens, Sir Anthony. Cap’n of the foretop in the old Warspite. That’s how I knows you, Sir.”
“Let’s drink to Warspite then. She’s still under Captain Masters?”
“No, Sir Anthony. He shifted to a second-rate, the Duke. Wasn’t happy about it at all, Sir, seeing how she’d seen no active duty for over ten years.”
“Dear God, that ship’s older than me!” Tony exclaimed. “Poor Jeremy!”
A young warrant officer approached, his hat in his hand.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Anthony, but are you fittin’ out, Sir?”
“I’m sorry, no. I’m only visiting Portsmouth. I needed some shore time with my family. So, half-pay it is for me, but also fresh food and dry clothes.”
“You’ve done more’n your share, Sir Anthony,” Stevens said, then turned to the young warrant officer. “If’n I had a wife like the Lady Carter, you couldn’t get me back to the Warspite if you put a knife at me throat. Sorry, Sir Anthony, but I saw her from afar, back when we were anchored at The Rock. That was after you was wounded, Sir.”
“Yes, that must’ve been when I earned my nickname,” Tony nodded sombrely, remembering how he had barely escaped a trap laid by his lunatic admiral.
Another sailor muscled his way through. He was in his forties.
“Beggin’ yore pardon, Sir, but you was talkin’ ‘bout the Blue Posts in Kingston Harbour. That was a grand place with fine doxies, Sir!”
“I’ll have to agree with you, my man. To the Blue Posts, then!”
They both drank to that far away tavern where Tony had first met the late Rose Mulcahy, his housekeeper and lover back in his Kingston days, before he took the Medusa to London, and then further to New South Wales.
When Tony left the Portsmouth Blue Posts two hours later, he was decidedly drunk, well sated from a fine shepherd’s pie, and several pounds the poorer from buying rounds after rounds of ale for the patrons of the tavern. The good Missus Benson shook her head when he returned.
“I had a good evening with a bunch of old sailors. Won’t happen again, Missus Benson. Kindly wake me up at six bells!” he managed to say, before he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
He still felt a little the worse for wear when he sat in his old dining room facing the full breakfast Missus Benson had prepared for him, but the excellent food and the steaming coffee took care of most of the ill effects of the previous night’s drinking.
With his stomach settled, he shaved off the stubble, dressed in an everyday uniform and headed out for the college. There was the inevitable invalided Royal Marines corporal at the entrance, who, seeing the uniform, stood as straight as his peg leg allowed him and explained the way to the professor’s office. Tony had no difficulties finding his way to Inman’s office.
A secretary received him and took his overcoat and hat and then guided him to the auditorium. Tony had never been to an institution of higher learning, having received his sparse formal education in a one-room school close to Kingston’s harbour. He looked around curiously, and he was slightly apprehensive seeing the ascending rows of desks in the grand auditorium, each of them manned by two pale boys, ranging from twelve to eighteen years of age, who gaped at him in turn. Only one of the lads kept his wits.
“Officer on deck!” he intoned, and the youngsters wiggled out from the desks and stood beside them and to attention.
Tony took his time and inspected the cadets before he turned to look at his host, who smiled at him.
“Welcome, Sir Anthony! It is a pleasure to see you!”
“The pleasure is all mine, my dear Professor!” Tony answered nicely.
“Class, this is Captain Sir Anthony Carter, Knight of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, who last commanded a squadron in the Caribbean Sea and on the Catalonian coast as a 1st class commodore in HMS Clyde, of 44 guns. Before that, he served as flag captain for Rear Admirals Sir William Maynard, Sir Edward Fanning and the late Sir Pierce Fallon whilst in command of HMS Asia, of 80 guns. He also briefly commanded Lord Collingswood’s flagship, HMS Royal Sovereign, of 104 guns, during the Battle of Trafalgar, forcing the Spanish flagship into surrender. As captain of HMS Clyde, he conquered the French ship of the line Aigle, of 80 guns, the feat for which he was knighted. In a career spanning fourteen years, he fought seven major engagements against enemy ships of equal or superior strength, winning them all, and never losing a ship or a battle.
“Sir Anthony has agreed to teach you young gentlemen the tactics and strategies of a fighting sailor, but also to answer any questions you may want to ask of an officer of his vast seagoing experience. Never forget your manners and listen well! Sir Anthony?”
Tony nodded and looked at the youngsters who stared at him in awe. Tony himself was a little flustered by his own biography as told by Inman and felt self-conscious. He took a deep breath and started to speak, using his normal, conversational voice.
“Be seated!” The youngsters sat down quickly. “Hearing Professor Inman list the stations of my career in the Royal Navy and the number of pitched battles in which I became involved, was enlightening to me. Yesterday, I had my dinner in a rather disreputable sailors’ tavern here in Portsmouth — which to visit I strongly discourage you — and I had to learn that my nickname amongst the tars is ‘Lucky Tony’. Having been wounded thrice, I could not quite understand this, but if Professor Inman counted correctly, and he is a superb mathematician after all, the nickname makes sense. Just surviving seven major engagements is grounds enough for the ‘Lucky’ moniker.
“Now let us now look at the skills which you must learn to be equally lucky. Can you tell me any of those already? Speak up, young gentlemen!”
“We must seek to gain the weather gauge, Sir Anthony!” a studious-looking boy announced breathlessly.
Tony allowed himself a smile. “That may be an advantage in battle, but it is no skill. The French will aim for the same thing. What skills are needed to gain the weather gauge?”
Another hand went up and Tony nodded. “Sir Anthony, the top men and the deck hands must be quick aloft and at the braces.”
Tony pointed at the young man. “Your name, Sir?”
“Winthorpe, Sir Anthony!”
“Cadet Winthorpe, you are of course correct. To gain the favourable windward position, our ship must be quick going about. How do we achieve that?”
“Constant sail drill, Sir Anthony!”
“Yes. We must also find the best sailors for the different duties. A twelve stone man is best placed at the braces and at the guns, whilst a seven or eight stone man may make a good topman with practice. What other skill shall we need, cadets?”
“Gunnery, Sir?” a mere boy of perhaps twelve years squeaked.
“Yes, gunnery is important. What part of gunnery is most important?”
“Careful aiming, Sir?”
Tony waffled his hand. “Not so much. Other ideas?”
“Sir, rapid loading and firing to outpace the enemy!”
“Now we are getting closer, but pray, what is the risk involved with quickness?”
Nobody raised a hand, and Tony answered the question himself.
“Sloppiness. No washing out the breech properly will make it explode when the next powder cartridge is rammed home. Not getting out of the way before the gun is fired will get a sailor squashed in the recoil. We need absolute discipline. When you join a ship’s company, you’ll be responsible for a group of guns. It is your duty to maintain the discipline, to load carefully, to run out and aim carefully, and to secure the gun carefully after the fighting. If you succeed in that, the guns under your command are helping the ship. If not, you will likely die in your first battle.”
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