The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series) (40 page)

“Very well.” The point had been made. “Go on, if you please.”

“Me an' Joe Lamport takes our meals in here, Joe's the deputed mariner.” Davies continued, his tone now more restrained. “The bo'sun and carpenter do as well, and maybe some of the senior mariners, when we chooses to invite them. Commander Carter, he's your predecessor, he'd often mess in with us also.”

“I understand the late commander suffered an unfortunate accident,” Griffin chanced.

“That is so.” Davies glanced about the small room as if eager for distraction. “Would you care to see your accommodation?”

It was enough, and Griffin looked with interest as the mate opened the light, low door in the bulkhead. He followed him through, noticing as he did how much he had to duck, and that his shoulders actually rubbed at the uprights of the entrance; in anything like bad weather there would be danger enough in simply leaving the cabin.

Inside the area was slightly less than in the chart room and made more cramped by narrowing dramatically towards the stern. The cabin was well lit, however; a central skylight occupied a good portion of the overhead, adding much needed inches to the height. Standing beneath it, Griffin found he was on a level with the upper deck, and could even see much of what was about at the binnacle; it was a feature that might prove to be a valuable asset.

“You have a bed space through here.” Davies pulled back a small curtain that hung to one side against the main bulkhead, revealing a recess in which a hanging cot just had room to swing. “And there are the necessary arrangements below,” he explained discreetly. Griffin peered through; it was as he had expected; the entire area was considerably smaller than his quarters in the
Gloucester
, and second mate's cabins in Indiamen were not known for being palatial.

“Plenty of locker room,” he commented, as if in consolation.

“Yes, sir.” Davies raised an eyebrow. “Though they may not all be for your own use. As I said, most accommodation has several uses in
Bee
. Your cabin is also the entrance to the breadroom, such as it is,” he added, indicating a large door set to larboard. “An' there is other stores held to starboard and the magazine is below.”

Again, Griffin had anticipated as much.

“Commander Carter did not spend much time in here, and rarely slept over,” Davies continued. “We became accustomed to shorter trips, especially of late.”

“Indeed?”

Again the mate seemed disinclined to meet his eye. “Let us merely say that Mr Carter lost some enthusiasm for his post towards the end.”

Griffin considered this for a moment, and was about to ask more when Davies turned and led the way back into the chart room.

“If it is any consolation, you will find the other quarters far less spacious,” he said, indicating two small doors to larboard. “Joe and I have berths roughly akin to your sleeping cabin, and the bo'sun and carpenter share little more betwixt them both.” He tapped on a single door to starboard. “There's no one else aboard at present, least no officers, only old Gadd, who you saw earlier,” he continued, leading Griffin forward. “The rest have been taken as a working party to tidy up Custom House, though most berth aboard a' night time.”

Passing the sail locker, they went forward and entered what was obviously the seamen's quarters. The space was divided by the solid bulk of the mast trunk, which looked unusually large to someone used to the proportions of a six-hundred ton ship. A pair of mess tables that hung from the upper beams took up most of the available central deck space and the far bulkhead held a line of ditty bags as well as two small doors, presumably leading to further store-rooms. Light filtered in through the open hatch, and one small skylight. At sea, and in rough weather, it would be quite dark, whatever the hour. Griffin also noticed the smell, which was strong and of stale humanity, only partially concealed by the scent of vinegar.

The seaman encountered earlier was crouching next to a small spirit stove perched, rather precariously, on a larger iron range. He stood up quickly as the two officers entered, but proceeded to shuffle about, still with his back to them, indicating that this was in no way a sign of respect. A line of hooks showed where the crew's hammocks would be slung, and Griffin was quick to note a second, lower bank presumably to allow for additional berths should the need arise.

“How large is the crew?” Griffin asked.

“Twenty-eight mariners, and a lad, sir.” Davies had become more formal in the presence of the seaman. “Plus petty officers: a gunner, carpenter, cox'n and bo'sun; though they act as normal hands most of the time. One steward – he and the boy look after victuals – and me an' Mr Lamport. Less than you've been used to, I'd chance, but a cutter's rig is not as hungry for men as an Indiaman, an' we don't fill up like they does in the Navy.”

“So there will be fewer to share in seizer money,” Griffin added lightly.

“Yes, sir,” Davies agreed, although again Griffin had the impression he was being appeased.

“It will still be a mite cramped, I'd chance.”

“Tain't as bad as it may look,” Davies explained. “With a watch on deck, and few journeys lastin' longer than a week, we don't spend too much time with all below. An' on the long trips Commander Carter always ran two watches, sir,” he said, with special emphasis on the last phrase. “The men liked that, an' there was twice as much space for all.”

“Mr Carter was quite experienced; a former royal naval officer, is that not so?”

There was a pause. Then the mate replied: “He was indeed, sir: a lieutenant.”

“An' as fine a man as ever walked the earth, and better than many who've sailed it.” Both looked round to see the seaman staring at them with unusual intensity.

“When the commander wants your view, Gadd, he will request it,” Davies snapped. The atmosphere had suddenly chilled. “If there is no duty for you on deck, I shall be sure to find one.”

The seaman pulled a sour face and made for the deck ladder, muttering to himself. Davies waited until he had gone before turning to Griffin.

“Don't mind him, sir; he's nothing but an old fool. But you may be hearing stories of the commander and I'd be slow in believing them, were I you.”

“Do you mean how he died... Surely it was a simple accident? A fall from a horse, or so I was informed.”

“That's about it,” Davies conceded. “Though some will be pleased to tell you different. And they'll have just as many opinions of Mr Carter; about who he knew an' who he didn't. I'd give them a wide berth as well.” The mate's expression softened. “But that's folk for you. One thing's certain, none of us is going to learn more now; neither can we put matters straight; you can be assured of that.”

“By straight, you mean..?”

“Let them be, at least until you have the chance to judge properly. Things might not be as they seem, an' I'd be sorry if you were to set off on the wrong tack.”

“I rarely listen to tattletale,” Griffin said.

“Then you'll be wise, sir. This is your first command and, without wishing no disrespect, you are just as new to the service. An' to England, if it comes to it. I dare say things is different in London, and John Company.”

It was an uncommonly direct speech considering the circumstances, although the look in Davies' eye was enough to tell Griffin that no offence or insubordination had been intended; the mate was simply offering him advice, and with the best of motives.

“Very well,” Griffin said, after considering the matter for a moment. “I take what you say, but you cannot but expect me to be surprised.”

Davies inclined his head slightly. “Aye, it must all sound strange to someone new to the area and not acquainted with the way we lives.”

If the mate intended this as a form of explanation, he failed and Griffin was left even more confused. However, intuition told him that little would be gained by pressing the matter further. “We may speak of this again,” he said.

“Indeed, sir.” Davies replied, relaxing slightly. “Perhaps when you have had the chance to sight the lay of the land?” The blue eyes were just as clear, even in the half-light, and in one Griffin thought he might have caught a faint twinkle. “And you will always have my support, sir.” The mate continued. “Never fear anything less.”

* * *

I
t was beginning to grow dark by the time Griffin finally quitted the
Bee
and started back on the long walk to his lodgings, in the town proper. On his way he passed the kings' warehouse that sat slightly back from the legal quay, where any imported goods would be unloaded and judged. He had barely looked at the place before, when heading for the cutter, but Davies' words worried him and now he gave it far more consideration. Good solid brickwork, no windows and two stout doors with heavy, serviceable locks; it would take much to penetrate such a structure. He moved on, uneasily aware that a few hours ago he had given no thought at all to the security of the building. And there had been no misgivings about Newhaven, or the area thereabouts. The town's inhabitants seemed a rosy enough bunch; the ferryman was perhaps a trifle sour, although that could be excused. Naturally it all seemed very different from life in the Company's service, but there was little wrong in that.

There was little wrong with his career in the Honourable East India Company either; in the last eleven years he had learned as much as the average sea officer, and earned quite a bit more. The men he worked alongside were mixed, some becoming solid friends, at least for the duration of the cruise, while others had inclined themselves to the role of passenger. And there had also been more than a few plain bad eggs for variety. But that was to be expected, and might be found anywhere. No, the reasons for him quitting his former life were rather more complicated.

Firstly, he had become an orphan. His mother and father had died within a few months of the other but, as he had been on a Far Eastern trip at the time, both events had appeared to be simultaneous. His only sibling, a sister, had moved to Ireland with her husband two years before, and Griffin had suddenly realised that he had few family and hardly any friends actually living in England.

This had disconcerted him,  although it was strange that it did because his homeland had never been especially important; the reverse in fact. As soon as he was able Griffin began to travel and throughout his career with the East India Company had spent most of his life afloat.

Afloat: he supposed the word summed it up. He had drifted through the previous years with few ties and little knowledge of his home and country; now he felt the need to get to know the place a little better. And, in the brief time he had spent on land, there had been many surprises.

The cost of food was one; some items were exorbitantly expensive while others seemed unobtainable, and the number of laws and petty regulations appeared vast to a man used to a simpler regime. There was also an undeniable culture of favours. This was hardly novel – indeed, he had benefited from it more than once in the past; but the practice was no longer a preserve of the rich or influential classes. Everyone did it; from street-side merchants to government officials. On ordering his uniform, the tailor had told him of the problems in raising enough broadcloth; a suitable coin proved extremely effective in reducing the delay. While in other matters, from obtaining clean sheets in a lodging house to arranging for a ship to be provisioned ahead of schedule, money, or some other favour, always seemed to be required to ensure an agreeable outcome.

But then almost all of Europe was at war and, even when in India or the East, he had been affected to some extent by the general lack of security, so he should not be shocked to find his home country altered. Still, the change saddened him; it was as if England had lost honour, and her people were reduced to the barter and bargaining of what he considered to be less civilised countries.

Finally there was a more subtle reason for his change of life. Griffin had never credited himself with the gift of insight but he could see, all too easily, how his future lay. Men in the Honourable East India Company either progressed or failed and success, the only outcome he would permit himself to anticipate, was cast in one universal mould. He had risen from apprentice to fifth officer, and then on to second. Another prosperous trip and he would be a first, before maybe taking a ship himself. Further advancement would inevitably follow; larger vessels with more important cargoes and richer passengers until he had accumulated enough to retire on. This would likely come by the time he reached fifty. Along the way that same course dictated that a number of things would be acquired, the first probably being a wife, one he would court at home, abroad, or even, clandestinely, aboard ship. He would also assume a cynical, almost distrustful nature – that was pretty much obligatory when in the Company's employ. And then there would come the liking, which would swiftly grow to dependence, on wine, spirits, tobacco or some other drug that was far stronger.

None of this was inevitable; he might deviate in some way: break from the rut, even strike out on a totally different path. But insight told him that the longer he took to make a change, the harder, and less satisfactory the outcome would be. And so, almost a year from making the decision, he had finally taken the step from a solid and safe position with an established private company, to the risk, danger and doubtless excitement of being an officer in his Majesty’s customs service.

The choice had actually been relatively easy, so much so that he wondered if it were to be a change at all. The Royal Navy was the other option, but one he quickly discounted. At present the amount of officers of junior or intermediate rank was particularly high, and if the rumours of demobilisation were true, it was a position hardly likely to improve. He might try for a place as master's mate, or even midshipman, but would be dependent on time, or an act of luck, before he could sit his board and have the chance of passing for lieutenant. Even then, with no helpful family member or acquaintance of influence at the Admiralty, the prospects for employment at such a rank were small, and probably limited to land-based roles such as regulating work. He might eventually get to sea, and even retire a commander, but that was no great achievement, and the possibilities of a happy marriage seemed about as small as with the Company.