Chapter 19: Port Call

HMS Syren was for once sailing as part of the North Sea Fleet under Vice Admiral Sir John Brent. She was bringing up the rear of the main body, keeping signal contact with the rearguard. Sir John kept a tight rein on his fleet, and Syren's signal mates and the signal midshipman were busier than a one-armed publican on a Saturday evening, sending and receiving signals between main body and rearguard. Anson suspected that after the months spent cruising the Dutch coast, they had to pay the dues doing the gruelling fleet duty.

At least, being part of the fleet made for frequent mail deliveries. He wrote and received letters at weekly intervals, profiting from the fact that Elizabeth was a frequent guest at Admiral Wilbury's house. The old admiral and his wife had almost adopted her for want of their own offspring, and Elizabeth enjoyed the contact and the comfort. She was always able to sneak in her letters before the mailbag was sewn shut and tarred, and she was the first to receive incoming letters.

During the last days ashore, Anson had got a measure of her expressive nature, and her letters bore true testament to that, too. They were a joy to read, simply because of her mastery of the language and her ability to make trivialities interesting. He learned from her letters, that her first theatre play was due for a premiere at the opening of the fall season, and in the famed Drury Lane Theatre, no less. With all the excitement over this fact, she was also working on her second book, a full length novel. She would not confide much in her letters, but he suspected that some of the story would centre around her own experiences as a mute.

His own letters looked monotonous even to his own eyes. The squadron was patrolling the Dutch coast sailing to and fro, and not much could be reported other than the dwindling of water stores and provisions. It was late September, however, before Syren was sent to Sheerness for water and supplies. From her letters, Anson knew that Elizabeth had briefly visited London two weeks earlier, but he expected her back at Sheerness.

She was. He saw her even before Syren's anchor was dropped, standing on the jetty and waving a small White Ensign. Mr. Partridge saw her too and he suppressed his grin.

"Mrs. Anson knows how to make herself noticed, sir."

"She does, doesn't she?" Anson did not hide his smile. "There are worse things about a wife."

"Of course, sir, but then again, I wouldn't know," Partridge replied ruefully.

"Take heart, Mr. Partridge. Advancement comes to those who are ready for the unexpected."

"There is not too much unexpected when we sail with the fleet, sir."

"Quite so, Mr. Partridge. Yet, it is a necessary duty. Our time will come again, never fear. I hear that Falcon made a hash of their latest cruise along the coast. Lost her mizzen mast too, without having anything to show for it."

Partridge nodded eagerly. "We'll be ready to step in for her, sir. That was a neat action, taking the Eendracht. 'Twas my first ship-to-ship fight. I heard she is fitted out at Portsmouth. She'll be renamed Sutherland."

"Interesting. Nevertheless, I pity her poor captain. She is an atrocious ship. I much prefer Syren, even with the difference in pay."

"She is a fine ship, sir, even ... I'm sorry. Forget I said something."

"Oh, I know that Clyde is the superior ship. She is a naughty dream under sails, damn it! Captain Fortescue is a lucky man."

"Aye, sir. We logged fourteen and a half knots this spring with a quarterly wind! And the quarters! We have rat holes here by comparison."

"Still, I'll take Syren over a shore command any time. She's one of the best of her class, and we have a good crew. Now, let's get her ready for anchoring!"

"Aye-aye, sir!" Partridge replied, their brief moment of idle chat over. "Boatswain! Ready for anchoring! Mr. Lewis, have the t'gallants taken in!"

The topmen climbed up the ratlines in a steady stream. In less than two minutes, the topgallant sails were furled under the yards, and the topmen manned the topsail yards. Syren still had a decent steerage, but it was time to strike the sails.

"Have the topsails furled, if you please," Anson commanded. "Quartermaster, helm-a-lee!"

With her remaining speed, Syren turned into the wind. Anson waited until her movement died out, and then gave orders to drop her anchor. A perfectly executed manoeuvre Anson found.

Elizabeth was already waiting at the quay when his gig made fast. Anson almost ran up the slippery steps, and then she was in his arms, her lips smiling under his kiss.

"I missed you so much!" she whispered urgently. "I have wonderful news too! Too wonderful to write about!"

Anson held her at arm's length. "Are you with child, Dearest?"

"I am!" she beamed. "It is wonderful! I do not feel sickness at all, but I feel the changes anyway."

Anson hugged her close. "This is wonderful news! You make my life complete, you dear, dear girl!"

"I hope that you will be able to give me my speech therapy tonight?" she asked against his chest.

Anson chuckled. "Oh, yes! We wouldn't want you to slip, would we?"

"No, Dearest! Now run to Admiral Wilbury! Let it not be said that I keep my husband from doing his duty!"

Nevertheless, she walked with him and visited Mrs. Wilbury whilst Anson handed in his reports and requests to the harbour admiral. Fortunately, the understanding admiral was more than willing to grant Anson leave to sleep on shore whilst Syren was in harbour. She also accompanied him patiently to the victualling yard and to the dockyard. Anson noticed that the gentlemen in charge of the yards were decidedly more polite and helpful when a beautiful young woman was present, and on the way back to the quay, he commented on it.

"The fellows were never that friendly to me."

Elizabeth giggled. "See? I can further your career." The way she looked at him, he knew that she had a request. "Dearest, would it be permitted for me to visit your ship? I would love to see it and watch the crew when they are working. To be honest, I'd love to hear their argot too."

Anson inspected her for a moment and found nothing wrong in the way she was dressed for coming aboard.

"I suppose there will be no harm. I wouldn't want you aboard when the wives are allowed to visit, but that won't happen before the evening."

If a British man-o'-war was lying at anchor, it was customary to allow the crew's wives aboard. Some of the women's claims to the standing of a lawfully wedded wife were more than dubious, others were professional "wives" who claimed husbands on any anchoring ship, but the whole system gave the men some much-needed relief. Being newly married himself, Anson would never think of depriving his men of this chance.

Elizabeth blushed a little, but she smiled too. "I have heard of what happens then. Whilst I feel a certain curiosity about it, my sense of propriety certainly objects to being present at such a time."

"Nor could I allow it, my dear," Anson smiled. "Do you think that you can handle the Jacob's ladder?"

"Of course, my dear. I am not yet ripe for the boatswain's chair."

Anson also preferred his wife to come aboard in a dignified manner by entering through the port, rather than being hoisted aboard in the boatswain's chair with her legs showing to the crew. They walked to where his gig was waiting. Mr. Horner, the cox'n, readied the men hastily and bowed to Elizabeth in exaggerated fashion.

"Yore servant, Madam," he intoned gravely.

"Good day, Mr. Horner," Elizabeth answered easily, knowing his name from Anson's letters. Horner beamed with pride.

Elizabeth easily climbed down into the boat and sat in the stern sheets whilst Anson chose to stand during the short crossing. He caught the admiring glances of the gig's crew members and he felt a silly pride.

They hooked onto the chains and Anson helped Elizabeth with the first rungs of the Jacob's ladder before he climbed after her. The pipes shrilled when he entered through the port behind his wife, and Elizabeth turned to beam at him. No introductions were necessary as Elizabeth had met all of Syren's officers ten weeks before, and he led her to the main cabin. Stevens was there, and he hastily laid the table for a small repast.

After the meal, Anson met with his officers to discuss the taking in of water, provisions, ammunition, and other stores needed to make Syren seaworthy for another three months. Elizabeth sat quietly in the background, and although Anson saw that she had no writing implements at hand, he was nevertheless certain that she committed all she heard to her excellent memory for later retrieval.

Finally, all the details were settled and Anson could turn to his wife again.

"I hope that you were not too bored," he apologised, but she waved her hand.

"Say nothing, darling! You know how interested I am in your profession and in all things nautical. I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

On her insistence, Anson showed Elizabeth the logbook, the charts of the Thames estuary, his sextant, the chronometer, and his brass telescope, all of which she inspected with great interest. He then explained how he would "shoot the sun" with the sextant and how that would translate into determining their latitude. He was more than astonished to see that Elizabeth easily understood and mastered the geometry behind that, and he realised once again how accomplished this young woman was.