The King's Carpenter

THE KING’S CARPENTER

BY

MURRAY MCEACHEN

Copyright 2015 Murray McEachen

Library and Archives Canada ISBN 978-0-9917863-0-5

Smashwords Edition

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Front cover photo: Battle of Trafalgar by William Clarkson Stanfield.

Back cover photo: HMS Victory, Admiral Nelson's flagship at Trafalgar as she now lies in drydock # 2, HM Dockyard, Portsmouth, UK.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I believe that all books are, in part, collaborative efforts. The King's Carpenter is certainly no exception. I received tremendous support, both technical and moral from my wife and fellow writer, Carol, who provided proofreading and encouragement throughout the process. Members of the Woolastook Writers contributed much appreciated and valuable criticism on a monthly basis. Two books by Dudley Pope, The Black Ship and Master and Commander contained invaluable information regarding life in the Royal Navy at war in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. I also thank the Department of History and Professor Mark Milner of the University of New Brunswick for allowing and encouraging me to travel to England and the Portsmouth Dockyard, the site of HMS Victory. Without that experience this book would not have been possible.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Portsmouth

Chapter 2 His Majesty's Dockyard

Chapter 3 The Apprentice

Chapter 4 Petty Officer William Flight

Chapter 5 The Parade

Chapter 6 Chips

Chapter 7 The Blockmill

Chapter 8 The Sail Loft

Chapter 9 Mutiny

Chapter 10 Aftermath

Chapter 11 Wooden Walls

Chapter 12 A Little Boat and a Little Admiral

Chapter 13 Gibraltar

Chapter 14 Mediterranean Cruise

Chapter 15 Battle of the Nile

Chapter 16 This Sceptred Isle

Chapter 17 Trafalgar

Chapter 18 England Bids Farewell

Chapter 19 Home at Last

CHAPTER ONE

PORTSMOUTH

To Mary Flight, these wars with the French and the Spanish had been going on for what felt like an eternity. England had been at war when she was a child. Now, she had two children: two boys, Eddie, three and Henry, eleven, just old enough to go to work, and the country was still at war.

For Mary and her husband, William, war was a double-edged sword. William was a sailor in the Royal Navy, and war guaranteed employment - so long as he kept his nose clean and remained physically able. It meant the family of four could live in relative comfort in their flat in the Landport district in the navy town of Portsmouth on England's southeast coast. On the other hand, war meant that William was away at sea for months at a time. Moreover, the threat of him coming home injured or not coming home at all, hung like a sword of Damocles over the family every day he was away.

***

It was mid-morning on a bright July day in 1794 and Mary had to get something for tea for herself and her two boys.

C,mon Eddie, she said. Let’s go to the market and see if we can’t find us a nice plump chicken for when Henry comes home from work.

Mary took the little boy by his hand and left the house for the street. It was a walk of only a quarter-mile or so from their flat on Fratton Street to the market on Commercial Road. It was a nice day for a walk and Eddie enjoyed the excitement of the street bustle and the store windows.

The city of Portsmouth had been a navy town since the days of Henry III. It sloped gently from northeast to southwest, ending at the harbour that surrounded it on three sides. Unlike big, industrial cities like London to the north, Portsmouth had retained some small-town charm and had avoided much of the dirt and filth of the metropolis. Mary certainly could not consider herself among them, but this south-shore community attracted many of England’s well-heeled for the sun and the salt air. She could smell that sea air and could just catch a glimpse of the waterfront over the buildings which lay to her front as she progressed toward the market. Directly to her front was His Majesty’s Dockyard where her eldest son, Henry would be working. She could hear the sounds of hammers and men’s voices above those of the street noise and she could see smoke rising from the stacks beyond the dockyard wall. With the wind blowing gently toward her, she could also smell the acrid odour of what she assumed to be tar. To her left were the waters of the Solent, and beyond that, in the distance, loomed the grey-green bulk of the Isle of Wight. She stopped and picked up her son and pointed in the direction of the water.

Eddie, see the ocean and all those ships.

Yes, Momma, there are so many ships.

Somewhere out there is your father. He’s very brave, you know. Fighting for our country, he is. When you say your prayers at night, you make sure you ask God to keep him safe.

I will, Momma, I will, I promise.

Eddie looked at his mother with his big blue eyes. Momma? he asked.

"Yes Eddie, what is it?

"When’s Poppa comin’ home?

I don’t know, Eddie. I don’t know, she said, somewhat impatiently. Your father’s in the navy, and we never know when he’ll come home. That’s just the way of it.

Why does he go away for so long?

Child, we’ve been through this before. Let's wait till we get home. We can talk about it there. Now is not the time.

But Momma, Eddie insisted. I want my poppa.

Eddie’s lower lip protruded, his eyes closed up and he began to cry – big sobs.

Oh, all right. Stop your cryin’. Mary fetched a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed his cheeks.

She gathered the little boy to her chest and held him tight. Eddie returned the kindness by wrapping his arms around his mother’s neck. Mary found a quiet place in the lee of a building and spoke softly.

Eddie, I've told you that your father’s in the navy and that England is at war with France. That means that he must go on that big boat with the big guns and with all those other men and fight.

Why do they fight, Momma?

Well, Eddie, it seems that men are always fighting. That’s just the way it is. This time, I think France has attacked friends of England. Now, your father and others are trying to stop them. It’s all very complicated. I don’t think I understand it, so I don’t expect a little boy like you to.

Some day I want to be like Poppa and go fight the French.

Oh dear, that did a lot of good, Mary mumbled to herself…There now, let’s get to the market. If you’re a good boy, maybe Momma will buy you an apple. You like apples, don’t you.

All right Momma, I be good.

Mary put Eddie down.

Here we are, Eddie. Here’s the market. See all the people. It must be because of the nice weather. Let’s find the butcher.

I see some chickens Momma. I can hear them too. Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck.

That’s very good, Eddie. You make a good chicken.

Good morning, Sir, Mary said to the man in the butcher’s stall. Mary had dealt with him before. Very pleasant. He was a big man with huge hands. Standing up, his head was virtually hidden by dead birds; mostly chickens and ducks but a few big geese as well, all hanging by their feet from the top of the stand.

Yes, Mum, a fine mornin’ it is too. What can I get for you today, then?

Well, I’m looking for a nice plump hen – about five pounds, I think.

Yes, Mum, I believe I have just the bird for you – and your young lad. Fine lookin’ boy he is too.

Thank you, Sir. This is young Edward.

Good mornin’ Master Edward. What do you want to be when you grow up?

I want to be a sailor like my poppa.

Well do you now? the butcher said to Edward as he patted him on the head.

Then he looked at Mary. So what’s your husband’s ship, Mum?

"William is on the Queen Charlotte. He said she’s Lord Howe’s flagship."

Hmm. I just heard Lord Howe gave the Froggies Hell. They’re callin’ it the Glorious First of June. I hope your husband’s all right.

Yes, Sir, so do I… I’ll take that chicken, by the way. How much?

Well, Mum, she’s right on five pounds. That’ll be one shillin’.

I see it’s got a wing missing. Can you sell it for a bit less? Damage an’ all.

Ah, yes. I’ll take off a thruppence for that. Didn’t see that. Sorry. You have sharp eyes Mum.

Good. I’ll take it.

Mary paid the butcher, put her purchase in a bag and took Eddie’s hand.

Good day, Sir.

Good day to you, Mum. He tipped his hat in Mary’s direction.

I wonder if he really didn’t know about that chicken wing, she thought.

All right, Eddie, let’s go find that apple I promised you’d get if your were good…And you were a good boy. Didn’t give Momma any trouble at all.

Back in the flat, Mary busied herself cleaning the chicken for supper while Eddie sat on the floor by her feet, munching on his apple.

He’s getting himself into a fine mess, but he’s quiet, I can clean him up later.

Because her husband was away so much and her eldest son spent the day at work, Mary’s main source of company was little Eddie. Despite the fact that he was not much of a conversationalist, she talked to him much as she would an adult.

Eddie, I’m very proud of your big brother, Henry. He’s got work at the dockyard as a carpenter’s apprentice. He’s only eleven and the work is hard. But he seems to like it. He says the men treat him well, and his boss is good to him.

CHAPTER TWO

HIS MAJESTY’S DOCKYARD

Mary had just about completed preparations for the evening meal when young Henry came through the door.

Oh Henry, you’re home. Sit yourself down Lad. You must be exhausted. I’ll get you a cup o’ tea...The meal's about ready.

Ahh, thank you Mother. That’ll hit the spot. My dogs are weary… I brought you some wood for the stove"

How'd you get that? You didn’t steal it, did you?

No, the master carpenter gave it to me – out of his share. They call it chips. They say it’s their right. If they don’t get it, they’ll walk off the job.

Well, if you say so…It’ll certainly help with the heat an’ the cookin’. Here’s your tea – and a few biscuits.

My God, Momma, that place is busy. Did you know that almost three-thousand men work in the dockyard? You wouldn’t believe the noise. All those men shouting orders, the machinery, and the horses. There must be hundreds of horses at the dockyard. And there are huge buildings; the storehouses and the places where they make the rope. Those building are so long, you can hardly see from one end to the other. They tell me they ring bells to send signals because they can’t see the other end or shout that far.

What do they use horses for, Henry? asked Eddie. I like horses.

Eddie, they use horses to run pumps for water, to operate cranes to lift things, and to move heavy things.

Henry, can you take me to see the horses? Can you? Can you? Please, Henry

I don’t know, Eddie. I don’t know. I’ve just started. Maybe some day. Maybe.

***

Henry left the house at 5:30 a.m. to be at work by 6.00. Mary had given him a cloth bag containing his noon meal, consisting of some brown bread, some cheese and a leg of the chicken from last evening’s tea. The sun was just rising at his back as he walked down Lake Road toward the dockyard. He had no desire to be late. The journeyman he worked for seemed nice enough so far, but Henry had a sense that he would not tolerate any slacking. On his way, he met one of his workmates, John Kidd, a lad a few years older and a few years into the apprenticeship program. Because he came from Scotland, he was staying at one of the boarding houses owned by the navy in which they placed dockyard workers and sailors who were ashore.

Hello John, mornin’ to ya, said Henry.

Mornin’, Lad. Henry, isn’t it? replied the Scot.

Aye, it’s Henry.

So what do ya think o’ the dockyard. You have nae been there very long. Am I right?

No, just started. But it seems a good enough place to work. Of course, it pays nothing’ right now. But that'll change when I’m a journeyman.

True enough, Lad. T’is a long road, but you will hae a trade when you’re through.

An’ the master carpenter seems fair enough. Bit of a weird duck, but he gave me some o’ his chips, he did. Mother was well pleased.

Aye, Lad, he is that. But you best watch oot for ol’ Sam Hansard. He can be sweet as honey, especially in the beginning, but can turn on you quick as lightnin’, he can. Don’t give him no lip or get caught slackin’ or you’ll get a canin’ sure as God made green apples. Men don’t call him ‘Mad Sam Bastard’ for nothin’.

Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.

Just you watch your Ps and Qs an’ you should be awe right. But if you get on the wrong side o’ that man, he’ll make your life a misery.

Henry and John entered the dockyard through the gate in the wall where it intersected with Queen Street and the Hard. Mornin’ Lads, said a red-coated marine standing in front of the stone gatehouse. Fine summer mornin’ it is. Goin’ to be a hot one, I reckon.

Aye, right you are, replied John.

John and Henry fell in behind a man with a team of horses. As the two passed by the mast house and mast pond on their right, John cautioned his young friend. Looks like those horses hae just been fed. Best walk wi’ one eye tae the ground, if you know what I mean.

Aye, replied Henry. Ol’ Mr. Hansard would not take kindly to my showin’ up to work with horse shit on my boots."

Laddie, you’re catchin’ on. Hansard’s ol’ navy, an’ he expects his young lads toe the line. If he says jump, you ask how high?

Once inside the walls, John and Henry continued their walk along Main Road and fell in with a procession of workmen heading in the same general direction. The dockyard was still relatively quiet as the workday had yet to start. Aside from the noisy clatter of the shod hooves of the team of horses on the cobblestone road, the early-morning sounds consisted primarily of men’s chatter and laughter, superimposed by the screech of the odd seagull overhead.

On their left, as they passed the mast pond, were three huge, grey-stone storehouses. Each was three stories high and as long as a football pitch. The centre block was topped by a white tower. Henry noticed a man in a white navy uniform standing beside the tower with what appeared to be a bundle of coloured cloth under his arm.

John, he asked. What’s that man doing way up there?

Oh, him, replied John. He’s a signalman. He’ll run signal flags up that pole. He’ll send signals to ships out in the Solent givin’ ‘em directions to come in to load or offload or to come in for repairs. He can also send signals all the way back to London. Did ya know there are semaphore towers between here and the Admiralty?"

No, I didn’t know that. That’s amazing. How’d you learn that?

Oh, I just keep my ears open. There’s no secrets in the dockyard. Rumours travel like lightnin’ in this place. Just listen tae the old-timers. Trouble is, so much of the stuff ain’t true. Trick is tae distinguish between the truth and the lies. Sailors – and dockyard workers - are great story tellers.

Across the road from the storehouses were the ropeworks. At a quarter-mile in length, the double-rope house would be the longest building Henry would ever see, As he passed the end of the building he saw smoke billowing from a smaller building to the left. The strong smell of cooking tar stung his eyes and nostrils.

Obviously, John felt the same way. They tar the ropes used for standing rigging. Stuff does stink, don't it?

Directly in front of the two young men, jutted the prow of a very large ship. The main mast of this ship towered above everything else in the dockyard and the red and black mass of its hull dominated the view.

John, that’s a big ship. Wasn’t there yesterday. Must 'a come in last night.

Aye, Lad, she’s a first rate, and a three decker at that. Sittin’ pretty high, so they’ve yet to pump out the dry dock. We’ll hae a peek around her stern tae see what her name is."

That is a big ship, Henry repeated. Look at all those gun ports. How many guns would you say she has?"

More than a hundred, I'd say.

The boys quickly skirted the workshop beside the dry dock. They did not wish to be late but were curious about this big ship-of-the-line. "Henry, she’s the Ville de Paris."

Is she a French ship, with a name like that?

I don’t know. Maybe she was captured. We’ll ask the boys at the shop. Someone‘ll know…Henry, me lad, we’d best get a move on. As it is, we’re goin’ tae be a tad late. An’ ol’ Hansard does nae tolerate tardiness. In fact, he becomes right ugly when workers are late.

John and Henry left dry dock number one and the Ville de Paris at a run. As they rounded the Great Basin, sure enough, Sam Hansard was standing at the carpenter shop door with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Hansard was not a big man, but he was wiry and muscular. He wore bell-bottom trousers and a blue shirt that he had acquired years ago in a wager with a sailor over a cock fight. The sleeves of the shirt that were rolled up to mid-bicep, revealed heavily-muscled forearms, turned dark blue with a myriad of tattoos. In his right hand he carried a wooden carpenter’s rule that had become his trademark and which he used like a boatswain’s cane. At this moment, he was tapping this stick impatiently on his leg. His face was near scarlet with anger, real or contrived. It was dominated by two coal-black eyes, topped by two massive eyebrows, appearing as two bushy, black caterpillars meeting at the man’s nose – a nose that had gone bulbous and red with too much navy rum. Unlike most men of the day, Hansard did not wear a hat. Rather, his head was totally bald and shone in the morning sun. It was obvious that the man’s moniker of Mad Sam Bastard, was legitimately earned.

As soon as John saw him, he whispered to Henry. Oh shite, we’re in for it noo, Lad.

Yes, John, I believe we are, replied Henry.

Their answer was not long in coming. Well, well, bellowed Hansard. Were you lads havin’ a nice mornin’? Just goin’ for a wee stroll were we? Enjoyin’ the mornin’ breezes off the Solent were we? Well, Lads, I do hope you enjoyed the moment ‘cause ol’ Sam has some good jobs lined up for those who wander in late like they's got nary a care in the world… Well, Mr. Kidd, what have you got to say for yourself. Young Mr. Flight might be forgiven his transgressions ‘cause he’s new. But you know better. You’re teachin’ him bad habits you are.

Aye, Mr. Hansard. Sorry, Sir. We was just lookin’ at that first-rate in dock number one; the one that’s just come in. Wonderin’ what her name is, t‘is awe

Mr. Kidd, I'm very pleased you and the lad had a nice tour, because you're not goin’ to see the light o’ bloody day for some time. You’ll spend all of this week in the bottom of a saw pit. Now get yourself over to pit number four. Ben Crocket is your top man. An’ if I gets any complaints from Mr. Crocket, you’ll spend another week in that pit.

Aye, Sir, said John, who had already turned and had broken into a run.

Henry was now left to face the glare of Sam Hansard by himself.

Now, as for you, Mr. Flight, Hansard paused for dramatic effect. "For your indiscretion, you will have the pleasure of cleaning out the shop latrines – all the shop latrines