The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Read online

  The

  Glorious

  First of June

  * * * * * *

  ­

  Georges Carrack

  Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series

  Volume 1

  The Glorious First

  of June

  Georges Carrack

  © Copyright Carrack Books 2013

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Story by Georges Carrack

  Cover design by Joshua Courtright

  Cover illustration sourced from public domain: “The Defence at the Battle of the First of June, 1794”, a painting by Nicholas Pocock

  E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9906492-0-5

  Carrack, Georges, 1947-

  The Glorious First of June: fiction/ Georges Carrack.

  Visit our website at www.CarrackBooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. It is historical fiction, however, so most ship names, captains, places and time references that appear in this work may be found in historical documents, or are set closely within the time of their occurrence. The protagonist and his family, friends and most close associates are fictitious.

  The names of all characters, historical or otherwise, are surrounded by a purely fictitious story. Any resemblance to businesses or companies is also fictional and entirely coincidental.

  v1.0

  This first volume of

  The Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series

  is dedicated to the wonderful English women

  Edith and Edith

  The author’s mother and grandmother, from whom he received

  a 1945 dictionary in which was inscribed,

  “May you never be at a loss for words.”

  * * * * * *

  The author wishes to recognize the efforts of and thank people who were extremely helpful in accomplishing the publication of this book:

  My wife, Carolyn, for her continuous patience and ideas,

  Joshua Courtright for cover design,

  The group of willing “Beta Readers” who provided guidance on the story line,

  Joyce Mochrie for proofreading and copy edit

  All those authors of this genre who have gone before, providing the inspiration and a basic understanding of life on a British warship in the Napoleonic era, and

  The internet and its contributors, without which/whom the original research necessary to complete such a tale would have been enough to stall my effort.

  The Neville Burton ‘Worlds Apart’ Series

  Vol. 1: The Glorious First of June

  Vol. 2: The Experiment at Jamaica

  Vol. 3: Mutiny at Port Maria

  Vol. 4: The Stillwater Conspiracy

  The Glorious First of June

  Prologue

  Britain has been a seafaring nation forever. There was no choice – she’s an island. Her sailors come from every country and town within her. Stories of the men who went to sea could come from any one of those towns. This one begins in 1792, during the peacetime before the French Revolution, when Britain was trying very hard to stay out of conflicts on the continent and, specifically, the internal affairs of France.

  Two boys from the market town of Bury St. Edmunds in County Suffolk, England, began their Navy careers at the typical ages of twelve and thirteen:

  Neville Burton: Born 3 October, 1779. Father Elliot, Lieutenant, deceased

  Daniel Watson: Born 12 April, 1780. Father Edward, First Lieutenant, HMS Childers

  Both boys, being from navy families and under the mentorship of influential family friend Sir William Mulholland, had been surreptitiously placed on ‘false muster’ on their tenth birthdays, thus presetting their military service dates.

  The early Navy Records of both read the same:

  Midshipman Neville Burton: Service Date 3 October, 1789

  Midshipman Daniel Watson: Service Date 12 April, 1790

  Called up: October, 1792

  Incident en route to Navy Office: Coach accosted by highwayman; responsible for assistance in the capture of said criminal before the portico of the Admiralty

  October, 1792 - January, 1793: Assigned as Purser’s mates for HMS Castor, completing at Chatham Dockworks

  January - May, 1793: Midshipman, HMS Castor, anchored Sheerness

  22 May, 1793: Midshipman, HMS Castor (Captain Thomas Troubridge), sailed for Toulon

  The Glorious First of June

  Notice to Readers:

  Please note that a glossary and table of English money are included at the back of this book . They may be of help to your understanding of this story.

  1 - “Beginnings”

  Midshipmen Neville Burton and Daniel Watson reported for duty via the Queen’s Stairs entrance at Chatham Dock Works. They were directed to a two-story gray stone building fronting the wharf.

  Within, beyond the outer doors and the third door on the left, they found a portly fellow who was dressed to look something between a naval officer and a local businessman. Bushy graying brown hair stood out a good two inches all around his round head. A shaggy moustache hid his upper lip. Although he looked tired, his eyes had a mischievous twinkle. He looked up from where he sat at a well-used desk by the window to peer at them over a pair of round, gold wire-rimmed spectacles. He closed his ledger book.

  “Ah, boys,” he said in a cheerful voice. “Are you come for the Castor? We’ll have boys after all, will we? Do you have your orders with you? You must have, or you wouldn’t have got in the gate.”

  “Yes, sir, for HMS Castor.”

  “First,” he said, “unless you meant to sign up for the Marines and wear a bloody red coat, you should forget the word ‘Yes.’ Those uniforms you’re wearing look blue to me. In the Navy, it’s ‘Aye.’ Are your shoes fit for walking?” he asked. He half-stood to see their feet. “Yes, they’ll do. Good sturdy country shoes, not these silly London slippers some of the young gentlemen come in wearing. Do they expect to sit about and eat crumpets? Hruumph! And, I’ll give you a bit of advice for free, I will. Don’t hold your hat that way if you stop at captain’s cabin, or he’ll have your ears off. Tuck it under your arm like this, see,” he said, grabbing Neville’s hat and demonstrating.

  “Let me see those orders,” he said, holding out his hand. “You’ll have to report to Lieutenant Nellis. He’s our first. Haven’t seen him since a week Monday, though, so I suppose you’ll have to find Lieutenant Ratcliffe. He’s second. Captain’s not shown his face here yet at all, at all. I’m the pusser, Stuart Goode, by the way. That’ll be Mr. Goode to the likes of you. That’s why I have this glorious office on dry land. I’m busier than a whole hive of bees these days. I’ll have you two to help me soon, though. You can read, can’t you? Well?” he said, wagging his outstretched hand.

  “Sir?” asked Daniel, “I’m sorry, I ….”

  “What, you can’t read? The orders, boy – the orders. You’re not slow are you?” he asked Daniel.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I have them here,” said Neville. He fished the papers out of his jacket and handed them over.

  “Where should we expect to find Lieutenant Ratcliffe, sir?” asked Daniel.

  “At the ship, of course … if he’s there. Maybe you are slow. That one, right across the way, there. Doing his duty, as you should be. Here’s your orders back. Look fine to me. Cheer-o!”

  “Yes … er … aye, sir. We’ll be off now.
”

  They were challenged by a marine sentry at the top of smaller ship’s gangway.

  “Ratcliffe’s aboard today, aye. I don’t see any of those gutter snipes about, so you’ll have to find your own way. Lay aft there – through that hatch – mebbe he’s down in the gunroom.”

  They descended a wide stair to the lower deck, and it became decidedly darker despite the white paint. There was nobody in the large room below.

  “Let’s try that dark little hallway there, Daniel. I think that’s aft.” They groped along looking for something to indicate they were on the right path. It also became strangely colder, as if the ship had trapped the night air and was holding it.

  Several voices rumbled in a room straight ahead from whence there also emanated a glimmer of light. As they continued moving aft, Neville felt the anxiety rising in his chest.

  They reached the forward screen to the space from whence the light and voices emanated, and halted. Some meeting was in progress. Neville turned to Daniel, whose features appeared ghoulish in that dim light. He whispered, “What should we do here? Must we knock or announce ourselves or stamp our feet the way we’ve seen the soldiers do, or what?”

  “I don’t ….” Daniel began to reply, and the talking in the room fell silent.

  The door suddenly opened wide, throwing the light of an overhead lantern in their faces. “Hello. What’ve we got here? Church mice?” asked a heavy voice directly in front of them. “Two young gentlemen, by the looks of them,” he said into the room rather than to them.

  “You two will learn not to sneak up on your betters. Get in ‘ere and report your business! That’s Lieutenant Ratcliffe in command, over there,” indicating a thin man who appeared to be taller than the others. He being sat, it was hard to tell how tall he actually was. He wore an officer’s uniform with an epaulette on his right shoulder. The top of his head was bald, and what dark hair he had was horizontally plastered to the sides of his head. Unlike the style of the day, it was not long in back, reaching only to the top of his collar. A large tankard sat on the table in front of him.

  “State your business, if you please,” Lt. Ratcliffe ordered quietly, almost tiredly. All four men in the room observed them with steady looks that were not quite scowls. Neville did not feel welcomed.

  Daniel began nervously, “We are Neville Burton and Daniel Watson, reporting for duty on HMS Castor in such capacity as we might be rated, Sir.” He said this as best he could remember he was told by his father when he was last home, and putting an emphasis on the last word.

  Neville added, his voice also quavering a bit: “Here are our orders from the Navy Office, Sir,” holding out the one document that served the two of them.

  Lt. Ratcliffe did not smile, nor did the others, nor was anything said. One of them accepted the paper and passed it along to the Lieutenant. Ratcliffe ceased looking at them and looked down to read.

  “Fredericks!” he yelled suddenly, and the boys both jumped. Everyone but Lt. Ratcliffe issued a short, low chuckle, and a black-bearded head immediately appeared from the side.

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” said the head.

  “Show these two young gentlemen to their quarters, and then I’ll think to give ‘em something to do,” he said to the apparition that was Fredericks.

  With that, they were received and dismissed to be guided away by this dangerous, pirate-looking fellow.

  “Right this way, lads. Down we go. Keep a count of the steps and turns. I expect you’ve not been aboard a Man-o-War, ‘ave you? Your quarters is a bit small and dark compared to what I expect you’re used to, but you’ll call it ‘ome soon enough. Down here,” he said as he descended another ladder. “This is it. Midshipmens’ berth,” he concluded ceremoniously.

  The small dark space to which they were taken enclosed a dank atmosphere. It boasted no portals to the outside world. The walls, as above in the gunroom, were made only of canvas, and the only ‘door’ was a shabby curtain. “Boatswain’s mates are forward of that screen there, but they won’t have you in,” was all that Fredericks added in the way of explanation.

  This hutch was obviously to serve them both – or maybe more – if there were any more to come. The only thing that was keeping Neville’s heart from sinking into his boots was that he had his friend Daniel to share the experience. A sideways glance at Daniel told him that he was having the same thought. There was nothing in the space except cots. On the curved wall, which was the white-painted interior of the ship’s hull, were rough shelves for eating plates and utensils, and a bit of their personal kit.

  “Where do we ….” Neville turned to ask Fredericks. He was gone, however, having vanished into the darkness.

  The weather worsened through November and December while they carried Mr. Goode’s notes to every corner of the dockyard. All too frequently the wind gathered itself to blow straight up the Medway River into the yard, carrying with it great drops of cold rain that rattled the windows of the yard’s buildings. On one of the most miserable of these days, Neville was directed by Mr. Goode to take one of his message scraps to the ship. “Deliver it to the officer of the watch. Return with his answer smartly, he ordered.”

  Aboard ship, he found a lieutenant he had not seen before in the officer’s mess which, by now, Neville had learned was the ‘gunroom’. With his hat removed, he touched his forehead at the man and took the safe path – waiting to be spoken to.

  “Cor! What apparition is this?” spoke Lieutenant Tripp, looking up suddenly from papers spread out on the desk in front of him. Lieutenant Tripp was a particularly short man and very stout, with an immaculate uniform and a very white complexion. He wore his black hair long and tied in the style of the day with a large black ribbon and bow in the rear. The voice was a baritone that sounded of high breeding. He looked to be only about twenty years of age.

  “Neville Burton, Sir. Pleased to meet you,” Neville said in the most cheerful voice he could muster.

  Lt Tripp looked him over for an instant before saying, “One of our midshipmen, hey? Wait outside, if you please.”

  “Sir, I’ve been sent by Mr. Goode with this message, and he’s asked that I return with the answer ‘smartly’…. His word, Sir,” said Neville, holding out the very unofficial-looking scrap.

  Lt. Tripp’s head, which had bowed back down to read, snapped back up to glare at Neville. He just glared, for what seemed five minutes to Neville, but was surely only seconds. Neville thereby suddenly realized that he had just stepped past the boundary of proper subservience. The stare was long enough for Neville to thank his maker that there had been nobody else to hear the exchange, and he was hoping that was what Lt. Tripp was thinking, as well. The lieutenant did not seem to be softening, though, and Neville knew he had flushed red and could hear his heart beating quickly.

  Lt. Tripp took the paper from Neville’s now-trembling hand and said, in a hard voice, “All right, then. If you must wait, stand outside as I have directed you, and wait! Just because old Mr. Goode’s in a twist doesn’t mean I have to be. I’ll get to his answer in my own time.” He then glanced at the message and returned to his desk. As Neville stepped into the passageway, Lieutenant Tripp roared in a deafening shout, “Mr. Tillman!” and went back to his papers.

  Neville waited for several minutes before another sturdily-built man hove into view from somewhere forward and proceeded toward the gunroom. He looked Neville over, head to foot, as he passed and mumbled, more to himself than to Neville, “One of our new young gentlemen, I suppose.” He entered the gunroom.

  Neville could hear the conversation within.

  “Ah, Mr. Tillman, thank you for coming so soon,” said the Lieutenant. “That boy in the passageway apparently has an urgent message from the high and mighty Mr. Goode. Mr. Midshipman is obliged to wait for my answer. Here is the message. I’ll suffer you to deal with it. Send him on his way when you’ve done.”

  “Aye, aye” was all the reply Neville heard. The man exited the gunroom and said to Nevi
lle, “Follow me.”

  A few ladders and passageways later, the man reached a point that he must have decided was beyond the lieutenant’s hearing and turned to Neville. “I’m the Bo’sun, Mister Evelyn Tillman. I could tell he was not ‘appy wi’ you. The note, if you please.”

  Neville handed it over. Tillman paused, studying Neville. “Who might you be?” he asked at length, opening the message to read it.

  “Neville Burton, Sir, Midshipman, and I meant no harm,” he replied in a quavering voice. “I know I shouldn’t have pressed Mr. Goode’s note when the lieutenant asked me to wait.”

  “Don’t ‘Sir’ me,” Mr. Tillman snapped. “Somebody’s got to work ‘ere. He can be … impatient … at times,” Mr. Tillman said carefully. “We don’t all know each other yet but, though Lieutenant Tripp appears to have a strict sense of discipline and a sharp tongue, he seems fair enough.

  “I guess Mr. Goode’s forgotten his life in a ship after having an office ashore for months now. Tell ‘im to send the bugger ‘ere middle of tomorrow’s forenoon watch and you with ‘im. I’ll show you where it’s to go now, and you don’t bother me tomorrow when you come back.”

  One late December morning, Mr. Goode greeted them in one of his cheerful moods. “Castor will shove out and complete at anchor soon,” he said. “I thank you for your services. Report aboard, now. Off you go.”

  The two found their way to the gunroom, again in search of a lieutenant. Finding Lt. Tripp there, Neville decided to hold his tongue. Daniel reported for them: "Midshipmen Watson and Burton reporting as ordered for duty, Sir.”

  “First you can’t hold your tongue, and now you can’t find it, Mr. Burton?”