Midshipman Rundel (book 2 of 9 in the Rundel Series)

By N. Beetham Stark

Ben leaves a happy ship, the Faithful, to join a most unhappy ship, the Hawk, under Captain Sharp who is suffering from syphilis but will not admit it. Ben, who is only 15, is asked to serve as acting surgeon’s mate on a ship with no surgeon. He is faced with ‘lubbers’, an alcoholic second lieutenant, an insane midshipman and tropical fevers. He is shanghaied aboard a slaver, escapes and later is taken with ten of his crew aboard a Spanish pirate ship. He manages to capture the pirate ship and her two foreign prizes and brings them into port at Barbados with a crew of only ten men, expecting to be blown out of the water. Besides saving the lives of men afflicted with fevers, he must serve as senior officer on a ship that is sinking and has a crew of Spaniards who are fever-ridden. He is crucified during a court martial for loss of the ship by one man who is destined to play an important role in his life. He manages to pass the lieutenant’s exam on his second try. These adventures lead to Book 3, Mediterranean Madness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N. Beetham Stark
• Release date: Oct 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9780984631698

N. Beetham Stark

Nellie Beetham Stark was born November 20, 1933, in Norwich, Connecticut to Theodore and Dorothy Pendleton Beetham. She attended the Norwich Free Academy and later Connecticut College in New London, CT before graduating with a MA and a Ph.D. degree in Botany (Ecology) from Duke University.Stark worked for the U.S. Forest Service as a botanist for six years and then joined the Desert Research Institute in Reno, Nevada where she worked on desert and forest ecology and later tropical nutrient cycling. She has consulted in many countries, working for some time in Russia, Australia and South America. She developed the theory that explains why tropical white sand soils cannot grow good food crops and described the decline processes of soils. She has also developed a science of surethology, or survival behavior which describes how humans must adapt to their environments if they hope to survive long term. She has 96 professional publications and has published in four languages.Her life long hobby has been English history, with emphasis on naval history. Her family came originally from Tristan Da Cunha in the South Atlantic in the early 1900’s. Her grandfather was a whale ship captain for a time which spurred her interest in naval history. She also paints pictures of sailing ships which she has used as covers for her historical novels. She has built several scale models of sailing ships and does extensive research on ships and naval history, traveling to England once yearly.Stark was awarded the Connecticut Medal by Connecticut College in 1986 and the Distinguished Native Daughter Award for South Eastern Connecticut in 1985. She was named outstanding Forestry Professor three times by the students of the University of Montana, School of Forestry.Today she writes historical novels, mostly set in England. She has published some 21 novels in the past twenty years, mostly on the internet. She lives on a farm in Oregon and raises hay and cows.Stark's two most popular book series are:Early Irish-English History1. The Twins of Torsh, 44 A.D. to 90 A.D.1. Rolf "The Red" MacCanna, 796-8462. An Irishman's Revenge, 1066-11124. Brothers 4, 1180-12165. Edward's Right Hand, 1272-13076. We Three Kings, 1377-1422The Napoleonic Wars at Sea (Benjamin Rundel)1. Humble Launching - A Story of a Little Boy Growing Up at Sea, 17872. Midshipman Rundel - The Wandering Midshipman, 17953. Mediterranean Madness - The Luckless Leftenant Rundel, 17974. The Adventures of Leftenant Rundel, 1797-17995. Forever Leftenant Rundel, 1800-18036. Captain Rundel I – Trafalgar and Beyond, 1803-18067. Captain Rundel II – Give Me a Fair Wind, 1806-18098. Captain Rundel III – Bend Me a Sail, 1810-18139. Admiral Rundel – 1814-1846

Book preview

Midshipman Rundel

The Wandering Midshipman

Book 2 of the Rundel Series

SECOND EDITION

by N. Beetham Stark

* * * * *

Copyright 2008 by N. Beetham Stark

First Published in the UK by Paul Mould Publishing,

www.GetPublished.co.uk, 4 Irby St., Boston, Lincolnshire UK

Second Edition, Published by SMASHWORDS, 2013

ISBN 13 978-0-9846316-9-8

ISBN 10 9846316-9-0

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright holder. Paid electronic downloads are acceptable.

A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available either from the British Library or, as below, from the US Library of Congress.

The Benjamin Rundel Series by N. Beetham Stark

This is the second in a series of nine books centered around the life of an orphan, Benjamin Rundel, a fictitious character who relates history to the reader as he might have experienced it himself. The complete series includes:

Humble Launching - A Story of a Little Boy Growing Up at Sea, 1787

Midshipman Rundel - The Wandering Midshipman, 1795

Mediterranean Madness - The Luckless Leftenant Rundel, 1797

The Adventures of Leftenant Rundel, 1797-1799

Forever Leftenant Rundel, 1800-1803

Captain Rundel I – Trafalgar and Beyond, 1803-1806

Captain Rundel II – Give Me a Fair Wind, 1806-1809

Captain Rundel III – Bend Me a Sail, 1810-1813

Admiral Rundel – 1814-1846

See NBeethamStark.com for information on how to find all of the books in the Rundel series, as well as Stark’s other works.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Ch 1 Settling In - Storm Clouds

Ch 2 Poor Little Johnny Grey

Ch 3 Barbados and The Caribbean

Ch 4 The Mistake

Ch 5 The Elusive Pirate - Dragging Anchor

Ch 6 Where Has Poor Willy Gone?

Ch 7 The Celeste - Heavenly Blackbirder

Ch 8 Heaven Let Me Go!

Ch 9 Breaming An Impostor

Ch 10 The Rag-Tag Pirate

Ch 11 A Tub Of Beans

Ch 12 Crucified By My Own Blood - Court Martialled

Ch 13 The Leftenant’s Exam

Ch 14 The Right Place At The Wrong Time

Ch 15 Angelina

Ch 16 How To Capture A Pirate Ship The Hard Way

Ch 17 The Admiralty

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author is indebted to the Royal Naval Museum, the National Maritime Museum, The Maritime Trust and the Lancaster Maritime Museum for information used in reconstructing the historical events in this novel. Authors such as C.S. Forester, Dudley Pope, Alexander Kent and Patrick O'Brien stirred my interest in stories of naval adventures. Nelson's Captains by Ludovic Kennedy, Nelson by David Walder, The Illustrated Companion to Nelson's Navy by Nicholas Blake and Richard Lawrence, and

Nelson's Battles by Nicholas Tracy were all invaluable in providing insights into the life of seamen of the times. I am grateful to Jim Meals of The Pelham Literary Agency for help with editing the manuscript. Thanks go to Ken and Barbara Pastore for technical review.

History provides a blueprint of past victories and mistakes that humans cannot ignore.

Dedication : This book is dedicated to Tintagon for her companionship while I did the writing and to our mutual friend, P.P.

MIDSHIPMAN RUNDEL

by N. Beetham Stark

INTRODUCTION

"In the 1820’s there was interest in writing about the great war heroes of the Napoleonic Wars. I happened to be there with Admiral Rundel at his home, serving as his steward, which was my job for many years. I first came to know Mr. Rundel as a midshipman when he came aboard the Hawk. I was an able bodied seaman then and had little direct contact with him. But one way or another, I was near him most of his adult life. When he named me to be his steward, I came to know him well, his every thought, feeling and worry seemed to seep through to me in my humble post. Perhaps it is just the closeness of our work and daily contact that brought him so close to me. Not that he confided in me much, nor were we really close friends. We always kept our distance but I was aware of a strong tie between us, as if we were held by some invisible bonds that could be severed only by death. Then too, there was Tom Murphy, his closest friend and a peach of an officer who found time to talk to me and treated me like a human being. Much of my understanding of the Admiral came from conversations with Tom."

I watched Ben grow up, get an education, become a man, struggle with the bureaucracy of the Admiralty and the Navy, watched him mourn the loss of his one love, saw him through numerous bloody battles, court martials and some fierce storms that I was certain would cause the ship to founder and sink. Now I count it an honour to sit by his side in his back garden and watch the sun set, long shadows falling over the English Channel as the blood red sun seems to sink into the roiling western sea.

It was one fine fall day when I said to him that he should let me write down his adventures, the story of his life. The events of his life would make interesting reading for anyone. There is mystery, intrigue, danger, tension, love and cunning enough to fill any reader’s cup to overflowing. I was there for all but the brief time that he was on the American slaver and another time when he was kidnapped and set aboard a pirate ship. I saw all and knew all. It is the business of a good steward to see, know and never speak unless spoken to.

So, I brought out a quill pen, some ink and sand, and I began to write. I had been a scribe before I was caught by a press gang in 1790. Most events are told by me as I saw them, but when something touched him so deeply that no one but himself could tell the tale, I relate it to you in his own words. Few men are more interesting and I could not have hoped for a more colourful gentleman as the subject for my writing. You will have to read all nine books to find out what really happened to Benjamin Rundel, but I leave that up to you." Stuart Gibbs, 1840

Author’s Note: Most of the events in this book are fictitious, but the conditions aboard the slaver and pirate ship have been portrayed with accuracy. The title ‘leftenant was used until the early 1800’s and is used here. The term ‘under weigh’ is an older naval term for ‘under way’. La Isla is fictitious and so is the Hawk.

Ch - 1 SETTLING IN - STORM CLOUDS

"So this was my new home. I could not have gone from one extreme to the other more efficiently. A few steps up the ship’s ladder had carried me from the fairy tale world of my childhood to a world filled with hate and evil in a matter of a minute. This was clearly not a happy ship. Pain and resentment seemed to ooze from every plank of her sturdy oak hull.

I had just been traded to Captain Sharpe of His Majesty’s Hawk by Captain Bailey of the Faithful, my home for the past six years. It seems that the Hawk had lost her surgeon from staring at the bottom of too many empty gin bottles.

First Leftenant Crookson led me to the surgeon’s cabin. I held my breath for a second before going in. There was just room enough for a man 5 ft. 2 inches to lie down. Nothing more. I was too long on both ends. The chest would have to be stowed beneath the bunk. A dozen empty bottles rolled around on the floor as the ship got under weigh. No wonder the former surgeon had died if he drank all that liquor between Portsmouth and Gibraltar!

Then I was led to the captain’s cabin and introduced to Captain Cornelius Sharpe by Leftenant Crookson. The first leftenant was a tall, slender man who appeared neat and efficient. He had a pleasant way about him and I sensed that I would like him. His hair was brown and wavy and he had a very broad face, quite handsome. Captain Sharpe was tall, thin and extremely nervous. He was a bundle of undirected energy. He snapped at me to Come in, sir and don’t stand there gawking. I knew instantly that he and I would never know the close friendship that I had shared with Captain Bailey. This man was unable to smile and stood glaring at the world from behind some hurt that lead one to wonder about his past. I noticed some strange sores on his face, near his mouth and the surgeon in me wondered if he had been exposed to disease?

Rundel, you will serve as acting surgeon until we are able to obtain someone trained in that discipline. I trust you know your duty as well as Captain Bailey indicated. You will occupy the surgeon’s berth until needed elsewhere, but you will have no surgeon’s mate and no steward. We are sailing short handed. This is wartime. You can mess with the midshipmen where you belong. You may resume your lessons as midshipman with the sailing master, when you are not needed in the sick bay. I may call upon you to serve as gunner from time to time. There are seven men in the sick bay at the moment, See to them at once. That is all.

What follows is the painful metamorphosis by which a child of 15 is forever banished and a man is born. What follows is my story.

Ben stood outside the deceased surgeon’s quarters with a balalaika in one hand and a crate full of woozy cat in the other. He had no place to stow his gear and could certainly not just leave it lying on the deck on a strange new ship. He had just come aboard and the captain had instructed him to get below to tend to the seven men in the sick bay. The mess that lay before him was disheartening. He couldn’t sleep in this cubby hole which stunk of whiskey, urine and vomit. Empty bottles rolled across the deck like loose cannon balls as the ship got under weigh. The sleeping space was covered with a filthy blanket, with bottles sticking out from under the horse hair mattress at odd angles. A stained night shirt lay on the cot and there were papers and trash everywhere on the deck. As he stood there, he was conscious of not being able to smell tar or manila rope or salt air or any of the other ship’s smells. He couldn’t even bring himself to stow his gear there until he had time to thoroughly clean the sleeping berth.

So he took his belongings to the sick bay. He would stow his gear there until he could find time to clean the surgeon’s quarters. What awaited him in the sick bay was no more inviting. Six dirty, bearded clouts sprawled against the operating table playing cards. They scurried to their bunks like rabbits to a warren as Ben approached. One other fellow lay quietly in his bunk. The room stunk nearly as badly as the surgeon’s quarters, but added to it were the smells of unwashed bodies and sweat. He had to gasp as he set his gear down against the bulkhead and took quick stock of the situation. Clearly, these men weren’t sick. They had scurried like rats to their holes when Ben approached. They were lubbers, men who would rather loaf below decks than earn an honest day’s pay on deck. Where discipline was lax, these men flourished and fed off idleness, breeding all manner of mischief among their crew mates. Jim Ledyard, his mentor and surgeon, had told him about the likes of these fellows before he left the Faithful.

Ben walked slowly to the first bunk. A shabby fellow, thin and nervous, lay there moaning, his hands making futile motions in the air. Was the man really sick, or only pretending? There was only one way to tell.

" I am Benjamin Rundel, acting surgeon for the Hawk. Where does it hurt?" said Ben.

Oh, everywhere, sir. I hurts all over.

Ben examined the man more closely. There was no fever, no obvious ailment and his abdomen was not sensitive to pressure. But his breath stunk of foul liquor. Ben wondered where he was getting alcohol from in the sick bay? He fell back on Mr. Ledyard’s remedy for loafers. To his surprise, he found a bit of rum in the medicine closet, just a few drops, but there was little else there. Luckily, there was a bottle of castor oil too. He mixed the two liquids about half and half, almost retching at the smell. He turned to the man who hadn’t seen what he was doing.

Here, lad, drink this. I’ll give you another treatment every four hours if you’re not better.

The man took the evil smelling mess and wrinkled his nose in disgust. What’s in it sir? It smells awful!

Oh, it won’t hurt you. It’s the best cure for what ails you. Now drink it down, he said, faking sternness in his voice. Ben stood for a minute observing the man as he made distasteful faces at the liquid in the cup. His handsome face was set now in a disapproving mask. This man was not sick, just a loafer!

Ben went to the next bunk. The man was pretending to be asleep. He shook him by the shoulder roughly to awaken him. What’s wrong?

Awful tired, sir. Tired all the time, day an’ night. Can’t sleep well either.

Lay still a bit. I have something that might help you. Ben mixed another bilious blaster as he would come to call them. He handed it to the man with a strong admonition to drink it all! His youth often betrayed Ben in those days. He was nearly 15, but unusually well-developed for his age. But anyone could see that he was but a cub, a mere pup. But pups can bite too.

The expression on the man’s face told what must be going on in his mind. His nostrils curled in disgust as he forced the evil smelling mess down his throat. It was the mere hint of rum that made the mess just barely palatable.

The next four cases were all about the same, and Ben treated them all the same way. Ben examined the men carefully and found little reason to believe any of them, except the one fellow who had his hands bandaged. He removed the bandages and found some evil burns, suppurating and needing care.

How did you injure your hands so badly, asked Ben.

We wuz working below decks, sir, up fo’ard. We had a lanthorn to see by. The old ship gave a lurch, trying to ride a rogue wave, and the lanthorn tipped and set fire to a tar pot. I grabbed it with me hands, sir. She was very hot. Some of the tar spilled on me hands, burning them.

This man was in need of the sick bay, but the rest were just loafers, recently out from port and taking advantage of a drunken surgeon who rarely called on them. Ben cleaned and rebandaged the hands of the man with the burns.

You’ll have some scars from these burns and won’t be fit to handle ropes for sometime. You can scrub deck and do other light work in about ten days, said Ben. He had no more than put the bandage on the man’s hand than the first sailor was off on the run to the head. Five minutes later a second followed. At least these fellows will be cleaned out when they go back on duty, he thought, somewhat amused at how well his medicine was working. By the time supper was called, Ben had seen all of the loafers in great distress. When he returned from the galley to collect food for them, all but the sailor with the burns were gone. That’s, ’good riddance,’ he thought. They won’t be back whining and moaning to bother me again for awhile.

Ben sat on the edge of the bunk and asked the lone sailor his name.

John Phillips, sir, able seaman.

Well Mr. Phillips, here’s your supper. Can you handle the trencher with your sore hands?

Oh yes, sir. I was beggin’ to ask you if I might be returned to active duty, sir?

Well, your hands are badly burned. It’ll be a week at least before you can do even light duty. Your hands have open sores that could get infected quite easily. You’re much better off here.

Well, sir, I will agree to stay if you promise not to give me any of that awful stuff you gave my mates. They were all stove in after they drunk it!

No need to worry, lad. I won’t give you any bad medicine. You’re truly injured and need rest. Here, drink some water. You need lots of water after a severe burn.

Ben found his way to the midshipman’s mess and introduced himself. There were 10 young men, all older than himself and seated around a long table. The tall, thin one was Harvey Boggs. Next to him sat Mark Lakeham, a very pale, quiet fellow. To his right was John Keys from Kent and Mitchell Romney, also from Kent. Mitch, as he was known, was a very fat lad for one so young. Then the red headed lad was Sean O’Leary from Dublin and his buddy, quiet, calm Jim Tanner. Freckles and wild blond hair was all that he could remember of Geoff Mills. Simon Wilcott had an air of distinction about him that was quite natural and suited him well. He came from a wealthy family in the midlands. Robert Granger had a distinct scar on his face from some accident. Lastly, Top Cunningham was small, frail-looking and had a pouty face. Once they had introduced themselves, Romney explained that Mr. Harry Hewlett was absent. He was senior midshipman. And likely to be such for a very long time, added John Keys with a hint of bitterness. The men laughed feebly at this and Ben thought nothing more of it. Ben took his somewhat indifferent supper and then headed for the sick bay. As he ate his meal, he thought that the common sailor aboard the Faithful ate better most of the time than did these poor midshipmen.

Sorry lads that I can’t bunk with you, but I have inherited the mess that was the surgeon’s quarters. I’ll be acting surgeon until we can find a saw bones. I’ll see you all in navigation class tomorrow noon? They nodded their agreement and wished Ben well with the Hell Hole, as the surgeon’s quarters was called. You don’t happen to sing in your sleep, do you? shouted Geoff after Ben. Apparently the surgeon wasn’t only fond of drinking but also liked to sing loudly and terribly off-key, all night long so that the midshipmen had trouble sleeping. Ben doubted that anyone was sorry that he couldn’t bunk with them. They were packed in like sardines in the tiny sleeping space of the cockpit that would have been cramped for two men. If one man sneezed, everyone would be awakened by his movement.

That night Ben slept on the deck outside of the surgeon’s cabin. It could hardly be called a cabin since it wasn’t entirely enclosed, just a cot against the bulwarks with a partition at the head and foot and a filthy curtain at the side. Ben didn’t sleep much. He was getting too big for sheepie, a sheep skin that he had found years ago, and cold drafts kept awakening him. He let Tagon, his beautiful tiger cat, out of the cage and fed her a good meal, scraps from his supper. He found a spare tin cup and drew her some water from the scuttle-butt. She stayed by his side the whole night, although the air was cold and she must have been uncomfortable. All night he could feel her warm body curled up against his stomach and it was comforting to have her there.

In the morning there was a pale-faced, wild-eyed midshipman in the cockpit when he entered. This must be Harry Hewlett, Ben thought. In a sudden unexpected movement, the man stretched his foot out as Ben tried to pass and tripped him, sending Ben tumbling against the bulwark. Hewlett kicked Ben in the ribs six times, leaving him sore and doubled up in pain. So sudden and unexpected was the attack that Ben sat dazed for a second, his hands grasping his injured side. The other midshipman that was absent yesterday, he thought. Why would the man attack a total stranger so savagely and without having said a word? Ben hadn’t even met him the night before.

You address me as Mr. Midshipman Hewlett, Senior Midshipman, an’ ask permission to pass when you want to pass by me, you understand! You must be that smart, know-it-all surgeon, er, acting surgeon that the first mate was talking about, snarled Hewlett. He stood over Ben, like a vulture stands over its’ meal, arching his back to accentuate his height.

Ben rose slowly. The name Hewlett was circulating in the back of his mind from some time long ago. Was the Hewlett that he had known as a child someone that he had disliked? No matter. He had taken a decided disliking to this fellow even before he could look into his eyes. Ben was younger than all of the midshipmen there, but he was as large as most of them and not at all used to being pushed around. His first instinct was to lay into Hewlett as hard as he could, bent on doing damage. The men of the Faithful had taught him how to fight and he was no pushover. No sane man would treat a new arrival, who wasn’t even yet an acquaintance, so brutally. He was hurt, incensed and angry. But the words of the old seamen from the pub at Saltash came back to rescue him, as they so often would. A man’s got to swallow a lot o’ trash to stay alive on a ship, but if he can handle it an’ keep ‘is temper, someday he’ll find that everyone respects ‘im.

So Ben sat for a second and thought, clutching his injured ribs. Then he rose up slowly and walked straight to Hewlett. Mr. Midshipman Hewlett, I’m passing you and I will be back! He shook his finger at the man, tipping his head forward in a threatening manner and arching his eyebrows menacingly. Remember when you come to me with a bullet in your gut that you must first ask, Please, Mr. Surgeon Rundel, will you take this accursed bullet from out of my insides? And don’t be surprised if I put you in a cot off by yourself to bleed and think about it for several hours until I get around to you!" With that said, Ben tipped his handsome head to one side threateningly and headed out of the room.

The import of that speech gradually sunk in, and Hewlett’s face turned paler, like ash after a fire. The other midshipmen had apparently enjoyed watching Ben’s response. None of them could stand up to this bully. That was instantly clear. He pushes his weight around as if he were captain, O’Leary said.

But the look on Hewlett’s face was unsettling and could bode no good for Ben. They knew, and Ben knew that this bully would strike again and would be even more deadly next time.

After breakfast, Ben was assigned a division to command by the third leftenant, Leftenant Thomas Waller. Most of the time his surgical duties would require that he be relieved of command and left to his cutting and sewing. Midshipman O’Leary would have charge of his men. O’Leary was a likable fellow and didn’t look to be one lax in discipline. His smiling Irish face hid a stern, disciplined mind that would lash out when needed to whip a man into line.

Ben went below to carry food to John Phillips who was looking quite well. The sick bay was a total mess. That would have to wait. He managed to find a bit of paper and some ink and sand in the tiny desk that sat at one side of the room. He sat down and composed his first report to the captain. He was ever so thankful for having copied many sick room reports from the Faithful for Captain Bailey for now he knew how a sick room report should be worded. It would pass across the desk of the port Admiral, and make its way to the Admiralty in London. It must be correct.

"Captain Cornelius Sharpe:

Sick Bay Report of the H.M.S. Hawk, 8:00 a.m., 20 March, 1795, off the south coast of Spain.

Six men were discharged from the sick bay and returned to active duty.

Striker Larson

Rich Poor

Michael Laem

William Bonning

Phillip Cheshire

Hugh Gypfudd

John Phillips was retained in sick bay with severe burns on his hands.

The sick room will be cleaned and examined for available supplies in the next two days.

Respectfully submitted this day.

Benjamin Rundel, Acting Surgeon of the Hawk"

He read it through twice to be certain that he had not omitted anything. Need he say that the men released to active duty were not really sick? He thought not. Give them a chance to prove themselves. It was early into the cruise.

He went to the captain’s cabin and asked to have Mr. Benjamin Rundel announced. The marine looked odd, but knocked at the captain’s door and announced Ben.

Enter, came a hoarse voice.

Ben went in and found the captain seated at his desk, surrounded by piles of papers. The last thing that he’s going to want is for me to add another paper to the pile, thought Ben, but it’s my duty. Here sir, is the sick room report for yesterday. Ben turned to leave.

Stay there! I haven’t dismissed you! shouted the captain. His voice was hollow and loud, reverberating in the small cabin.

Why do you worry about available supplies when it’s the needed supplies, that should be your concern? said the captain.

Poor choice of words, sir, answered Ben. I’ll be more careful with word choice in the future, he thought.

Ben stood watching the captain as he read the sick room report. He might be close to fifty years old. He stooped naturally, or was it from the years of living in cramped quarters with a ceiling at just over five feet high? His limbs were thin and frail looking, making him resemble a bent scarecrow. His face was drawn and pale, white, not tanned like that of a seafaring man. A long, pointed nose dwarfed the rest of his face, and thin lips moved as he read the report. His hair was mostly grey, wild, oily-looking and dirty. The boils and sores around his mouth stood out. The man was clearly not well. Ben was now convinced that the captain was suffering from syphilis, uncommon in a captain. He had seen it in seamen, but captains were usually more careful. He dare not stare and certainly not ask questions. The captain will have to come to me if he is really sick, he thought.

Your report seems complete. You are dismissed. Don’t forget to attend midshipman’s training in navigation at noon, he snapped.

Aye, sir.

Then Ben turned his attention to cleaning up the surgeon’s cabin. He rounded up a bucket, some strong soap and threw out all of the bottles and trash, including the mattress. He scraped the filthy walls and repainted them. The carpenter gave him the paint when he learned that he would use it on the surgeon’s cabin. Everyone on the ship knew about old Rodney Pilsington, the former surgeon. Then he went to the purser, a Mr. Jarvis Styles, and requested an advance so that he could buy a hair mattress and blanket for the cot. He introduced himself and begged the purser’s pardon. Might I be able to purchase a horse hair mattress for the surgeon’s cabin?

Advance on your wages? What do you mean, man? No sailor in His Majesty’s Navy is entitled to any advances until he has earned the money. Now, get out of here.

Ben stood for a second, thinking. The mattresses in the sick room were in terrible shape too, covered with blood and weren’t clean. Most of the mattresses were piled in a heap in one corner and Ben feared that they would be largely unusable, habitat for rats and mice. He turned back to the purser.

Perhaps you didn’t understand me, sir. I need a clean new mattress for the sailor who is confined to the sick bay. It’s no longer sanitary, and his burns are serious. We could use mattresses for the other five beds too.

Well, that’s different. Here, as he drew out some keys and headed down the companionway to the slop chest. Follow me.

As Ben followed the man, he noted that the purser was tall, lean and terribly shriveled. He must be close to 60 years old. The man walked unsteadily on his feet as if this were his first time aboard a ship. His skinny hands reached for the lock and slipped the door open. He stepped inside and drew out a small mattress. He said that he would send five more by within the hour. Ben examined it. It seemed to be new. He would probably end up paying for it anyway so he should be certain that it was new. He smelled it and it smelled like horse so it was most likely newly made. He took the mattress and thanked the purser. Ben was quite proud of his first lesson in the politics of the Navy. He had rephrased a request so it would pass, even though it wasn’t entirely true. He headed towards the sick bay with the mattress so the old man wouldn’t be suspicious. The surgeon’s quarters were aft and the sick bay was far forward. He felt the old man’s eyes bore into him as he walked away. The old bugger didn’t believe me, not one word. No matter. I have my new mattress. Struggling up the companionway with the bulky mattress made his sore ribs hurt, but there was no help for that. They had complained about everything that he did that day and would pain him for days thereafter. He was sure at least one was broken.

Finally, Ben was able to retrieve laika, a balalaika given to him by a deceased Russian sailor from the Faithful, and his sea chest from the cubby hole where he had stored them during the cleaning. The surgeon’s cabin smelled much better now, but the curtain was filthy. He pulled it down and went off to wash it. He’d scrounge some sail cloth for his curtain as soon as he could.

His plans for cleaning were interrupted by the noontime navigation lessons. Promptly at 8 bells, morning watch, Ben reported to the sailing master, Mr. Cecil Forbes. He was an old fellow and certainly knew navigation principles thoroughly, but he was an abominable teacher. He couldn’t explain even simple principles. He would start to explain something and then falter mid-sea, leaving his students to guess the meaning of the rest of the sentence. Fortunately for Ben, he had already studied most of what the master was trying to cover that day, so he had no trouble with solving the problems or taking the readings correctly. When Ben was the only one of the midshipmen to get the readings correct, including Hewlett, there were some evil looks cast in his direction. There was no helping it. Ben would have to help some of these fellows at night. He had already taken a liking to Jim Tanner and Sean O’Leary. As they walked away after the navigation lessons, Ben turned to Tanner and said, "If you couldn’t follow the old fellow as he rambled on today, I’ll be glad to sit with you and any others wishing to join us in my newly refurbished quarters after supper. We had already covered this stuff on the Faithful which was my last ship."

That’s a right fine offer now and I’d be glad to oblige, replied Tanner And you, Mick? his pet name for Sean as he turned to his friend.

I’ve no doubt that most of the others would be glad to join us too. All except Hewlett, and he would never admit to anyone that there was something that he didn’t know.

Good, then. It’s done. Bring along whomever you wish, said Ben, smiling at the two young men.

Ben went to work supervising his division for four hours in the afternoon, concentrating on learning their names. They were a motley lot, from all parts of England and some from Italy, America and Ireland. Their duty that day was cleaning and polishing the ship’s brass. It was easy duty and the men accepted his orders easily. Mr. Keys said that they behaved well as long as one keeps them hard at work, but beware of them if they are idle.

Ben ate below in the sick bay to assist Phillips and to avoid Hewlett.

One prize find in the surgeon’s cabin was a box with several medical books. They were in English but were different from those that Jim Ledyard had owned aboard the Faithful. He put them aside, planning to read them cover to cover when he could.

That night, just after 6 bells, Ben was amazed to see 10 young men lined up outside his cabin as he returned from checking on John Phillips. Ben smiled and offered his hand to his shipmates. They were shy and quiet, except for Wilcott and Boggs. Both were outspoken.

Let’s get about these lessons, said Wilcott , before ol’ Hewlett decides to join us.

E’s the one should be teachin’ this stuff. E’s been a’sudyin’ navigation for six years an still can’t box a compass! said Boggs with a wry smile.

Ben pulled the curtain aside and set the lanthorn on the small shelf. Enter gentlemen, but it will be cozy, said Ben.

The cabin sure looks and smells a whole lot better than it did, said Geoff Mills.

An’ he doesn’t sing in his sleep either, said Granger.

Perhaps we should repair to the sick bay? There’s more room there. I have only one man under care at present. said Ben.

The general murmur that followed showed that the men preferred the sick bay.

I plan to clean this place up properly tomorrow, said Ben as the men filed into the sick bay.

Ben began by explaining the principles behind what old Forbes had tried to teach that day. Why, that’s simple when you explain it that way, exclaimed Lakeham. I can do that easy. And he did. By the end of the evening, all of the midshipmen had mastered the sightings and understood the simple calculations. It’s just that Forbes thinks that you have all of the vast knowledge that he has and already understand why the calculations work. He doesn’t realize that he has to go more slowly and answer your questions.

Ben would end up teaching at night almost every lesson that Forbes gave them. Sometimes Ben had to pull out the book on navigation that Captain Bailey had given him before he left the Faithful to study up on something new, but he was always able to pull it off so that they could understand. Ben soon became friendly with the midshipmen, but not with Hewlett. Keys, O’Leary and Tanner were good friends. But Ben did miss old Tom Murphy, his closest friend from the Faithful more than he would ever admit.

That night Ben slept like a dead man. It had been a busy and exciting day, packed with too many things for comfort. But the fun hadn’t really begun, yet.

The next morning when Ben entered the midshipman’s mess, Hewlett stood to one side, sullen and staring at his cup. Ben was wary, but he didn’t advance near him. Ben was able to eat his breakfast in peace. Top Cunningham wasn’t so lucky. As Ben sat there, Hewlett picked up a piece of wood and struck Cunningham hard across the back of his head. The lad had said not a word. He sat eating as Ben did and the blow caused him to bite his tongue leaving a painful cut. Ben wondered again what triggered these sudden attacks of violence in the man? He had read about Bedlam and how mentally ill patience behaved. This man seemed to show all of the symptoms of the mentally ill. Poor Cunningham fell forward into his food, his face buried in the meal. Later, Hewlett complained that Top had slurped his coffee, annoying him. What a poor excuse for maiming the poor fellow, thought Ben.

Take him to our almighty surgeon to heal, said Hewlett with a maniacal laugh.

So that is how he will get back at me. He’ll keep a steady stream of injured midshipmen coming to my door for help! Ben was helpless against this strategy and determined to talk with his fellow midshipmen about it at their next meeting. Keys and Tanner helped Cunningham to the sick bay. There were no apparent broken bones, but his head would spin for awhile. Ben cleaned the bruise and bandaged his head to ease the pain. There was little he could do for the injured tongue. He helped the lad into a hammock. The few bunks were too dirty to use. But something had to be done about Hewlett. Ben couldn’t forget the mad dog glare, the deep fire in Hewlett’s eyes as he administered the blow.

After breakfast, Ben prepared a surgeon’s report similar to the one yesterday, indicating the good progress of seaman Phillips, but had to add that Mr. Cunningham was treated for a head injury. The captain read the report with interest, but Ben was disappointed when he didn’t ask how Mr. Cunningham had injured his head. Ben had no faith in Captain Sharpe, but he might be their only hope in curbing the abuses being dealt out by Hewlett. Ben was about to turn to leave when the captain stopped him again.

Not so fast, young man. Do you know second leftenant, Thurber Culbert?

Not really, sir. I was introduced to him just yesterday.

I know that, said the captain irritably. I know you have just come aboard at Gibraltar. What was your impression of the man?

Now Ben was at a distinct disadvantage. How could I have a worthwhile opinion of a man that I had seen for all of three minutes and whose hand I had barely shaken? he thought. Ben paused for a few seconds, trying to recall the man, what he looked like. He was quite young, big but fat, slovenly...

When Ben answered, it was at the impatient insistence of the captain and at his most guarded moment, for fear that he might malign a favourite officer.

I thought that he appeared rather poorly kempt for an officer, sir. Ben didn’t say anything about the stains on his uniform, his unshaven face, his trembling hands. Oh, he had seen all of that