Powder Monkey (6 page)

Middlewych gave a nervous cough. ‘You've been placed in the larboard watch,' he said, ‘in the afterguard. Your duties will include pulling and hauling the sails and whatever else is demanded of you, but your chief concern will be gunnery. When called “To Quarters” you'll supply powder for the gun just aft of the larboard main hatch. Pay attention, learn your trade, and try not to get yourself blown up. You will join Lovett's crew, and he will train you in all these duties. He's a good, kind man –'

‘A kind man?' interrupted the Captain. ‘I've little use for kind men on this ship.'

Middlewych looked uncomfortable, and I almost felt sorry for him. He waited a moment, to see if the Captain had anything more to say. ‘. . . And I'm sure you won't disappoint him and us. That is all.'

This I took to be my signal to leave, and I nodded in what I hoped was a respectful manner. As I turned to go, the Captain called out, ‘Witchall. Next time I see you, you'd better have learned how to salute.'

I spent the morning scrubbing out the hold with four
other newly pressed men. They were all much older than me and none seemed keen to talk. Whistles blew just after noon, and I turned to a ratty-looking man with ginger bristles on his chin and asked what this meant.

‘That's the signal to go to the mess deck for dinner, lad,' he said as we trooped up the stairs. ‘I've been in this pickle before. Y' life's ruled by that bosun's whistle – breakfast, dinner, hauling yourself up to the yards, weighing the anchor. You obey that whistle just as a soldier obeys a bugle.'

I spotted Ben seated at a table in the corner and picked my way towards him, avoiding the curious stares of the older seamen.

‘So – you're to be a powder monkey!' he said.

‘Why do they call us that?' I said. It sounded insulting.

Ben laughed. ‘Don't get on your high horse, Sam! Monkeys are nimble creatures. That's what you need to be, so that's what you ought to become.'

‘And what's the afterguard?' I said.

‘The afterguard's the division that's stationed on the quarterdeck – y' know, that bit at the stern where the Captain stands.'

I realised Ben liked to tease me by pretending I knew nothing about life at sea. He went on, ‘The larboard watch take turns with the starboard watch. Your duties
there probably won't be a great deal different from what you had to do on the
Franklyn
– cleaning the ship, operating the sails and the like.'

‘What about climbing the rigging?' I asked anxiously.

‘A bit o' that, for sure. But the topmen do most of that work.'

I was pleased I would not have to regularly climb the rigging. I felt confident up in the sails of the
Franklyn
, but the masts on the
Miranda
were much higher. I feared the letting down and furling of the sails would be done with a speed that took little account of safety.

‘Your chief duty, though,' said Ben, ‘is to assist in the firing of the guns.'

Ben took great pride in his work as a gunner. It was obvious the moment he spoke about it. ‘The British gunner is the best in the world, Sam. That's why Britannia rules the waves!' I didn't doubt it. After all, I'd grown up hearing about the Royal Navy's famous victories. Ben went on, ‘It's not the captains, it's not the ships, it's us that win the battles. We train and we train, until we can load and fire those guns blindfold – not that we've ever tried, mind, but we've sometimes had to fight at night. And when we fight we can get our guns to fire one shot a minute. The Frenchies and the Spanish can't do that to save their lives. We're twice as fast as they are. And that's why we're the best.'

Before the meal was over I remembered to ask Ben to
show me how to do a Navy salute.

‘You need to salute with your right hand every time you see an officer,' he told me. ‘And turn your palm away from the man you salute, so he can't see your mucky hands. You practise a few times. And don't forget, you can be flogged for insubordination if you don't salute.'

Ben took me up to the gun deck to look at the ship's guns. Daylight streamed in through the main gangways of the ship. Posted by each was a marine standing to attention in his bright red coat. On the starboard side, where the ship faced the quay, a gangplank led down to the harbour. I looked out, beyond the guard, to the quayside behind him. If I chose my moment, surely I could run past him?

Ben could read my thoughts, and spoke quietly. ‘You'd be dead by the time you got halfway down the gangplank, Sam, if you hadn't been run through with a bayonet before you even got out the ship. There's a marine at every hatchway. And one by every mooring rope.

‘You'll find the marines keep themselves well apart from the sailors. It's no wonder. They're supposed to keep order. And they're expected to kill any one of us who tries to escape.'

The marine standing guard sensed we were talking
about him. ‘State your business,' he barked.

Ben gave him a quick smile. ‘It's none of yours, my friend. I'm here to show our new powder monkey the guns.'

I wondered how many of his previous powder monkeys had heard this speech, but thought it wise not to ask.

‘There's thirty-two big guns on this ship, which is why it's called a “32”. There's ten either side of the gun deck, and another six either side of the forecastle and quarterdeck. I'm captain of the crew of this gun here, next to the larboard hatchway.'

Ben pointed to his gun.

‘These big guns are called 18 pounders, because they fire 18lb shot.' He nodded towards a line of black metal cannonballs placed underneath the gun ports. I went to pick one up. It was slightly above the width of a man's hand, and almost more than I could lift.

‘You try to move that gun,' he instructed. I placed my back against the wooden carriage and shoved with all my might. It didn't budge an inch. I may as well have been pushing at a huge tree trunk. ‘These guns and carriages are nearly two tons apiece. We keep the guns loaded once we go out to sea, so they're ready to fire if we're attacked. Once the first broadside is fired, we need to reload as soon as possible. That's why your job is so important. Gunpowder's too dangerous to be kept by
the guns, so you need to run to the magazine and fetch it. We're close to the magazine here, so you won't have far to run. I'll show you.'

We walked down the ladder nearest to Ben's gun, to the mess deck and then down another stairway which led to the after magazine. Here in the dark belly of the ship was one of the two chambers where gunpowder was kept. Another marine was standing guard beside it. Ben gave him a curt nod.

‘This is where you come to fetch the gunpowder cartridges. They're made of linen bags and you carry them in a leather container, which we call a cartridge box. You make sure the lid's on good and proper, Sam, and you'll be all right.'

Even now, in port and far from battle, the magazine was an unsettling place to be. The few dim lanterns in the hold cast a faint glow, creating an atmosphere of demonic menace. Here, I supposed, there was enough gunpowder to blow the entire ship, and everyone on it, into fragments of wood, flesh and bone.

As the crew gathered in the mess for supper that evening I spotted Silas.

‘What have they been making you do today, Mr Warandel?' I asked.

‘Call me Silas, Sam. We're in this hornet's nest together. I've just spent four hours in the forecastle repairing
the ship's rigging. I had a chat with that Mandeville this morning too. Have you met him yet?'

I nodded.

‘Beady-eyed bastard. Tells me he's got his eye on me.'

I smiled, but could think of nothing useful to say. I was pleased to see Silas, but he made me feel uneasy and I wondered what he might do that would land me in trouble.

‘I'm joining you in the larboard afterguard, Sam. I've been put in with Ben Lovett's gun crew. Have you met him yet? Can't say I care much for Brummies, especially that one. Being gun captain's probably the first bit of power he's had in his life, and he's keen to let everyone know he's the boss.'

I thought Silas sounded a little jealous. ‘He's all right, is Ben. He's my Sea Daddy.'

Before I could say more, Ben came over to join us. He smiled at me, but gave Silas more of a curt nod. I sensed the two of them had not hit it off.

Ben took us over to a table where he usually sat. This time he introduced us to his mess mates.

‘This is Silas Warandel. He's from London. And the lad here is Samuel Witchall. You're from Norfolk, aren't you? They'll be replacing Henry and Stephen.' The men all nodded indifferently.

Silas asked the question I had not dared to. ‘What happened to Henry and Stephen?'

Ben shook his head. ‘Horrible business. Henry was crushed by the gun. Stephen was blown to pieces by his cartridge box.'

There was a brief pause as some of the men took off their hats and whispered a silent prayer. Ben turned directly to us. ‘You'll have to get used to this lot, Sam, and you too, Mr Warandel. They're my gun crew, and we all eat together every mealtime. You can see they're a fine cross section of the Royal Navy.'

We ate our bread and cheese as Ben carried on talking. ‘In training and combat, we're all called by a number, rather than a name. I'm Number One, and you, Sam, are Number Twelve. My job's to oversee the loading and aiming of the gun, and fire the flintlock that sets it off. Then there's Tom Shepherd here.' He pointed to a solid, bespectacled young man. ‘He's a Londoner and he's my Number Two. He cleans out the gun, then reloads it. After me, he's the most important man in the crew. If he does it wrong, the powder could explode whilst the gun's being loaded. It's a job for a steady man, and we all trust Tom to do it well.'

Tom smiled at me and leaned over to shake my hand. ‘I was a merchant seaman like you, Sam,' he said. ‘I sailed out of London. I was pressed on the way back from America. My old mum always told me to stay away from the sea.' He laughed. ‘She was right! Crossed the Atlantic, didn't I, and ended up in this.'

Ben went round the table. ‘This here's our Number Three, James Kettleby. He helps me aim the gun. Y' need to be as strong as an ox to do that job.'

James was certainly big and burly. He was from Newcastle, and his accent was hard for me to follow. Tom immediately began to rib him about the way he spoke. ‘Are y' gannin doon toon the neet?' said Tom.

‘Aye,' said James, with amiable contempt. ‘Ah gannin doon toon t' find me a bonny lass. Captain's given me special leave like – t' get away from soft Cockney bastaads like ye!'

This exchange made me nervous. I couldn't understand how two men could talk to each other with such apparent hostility, but both be laughing when they spoke.

Ben went on, ‘Four, Five and Six help to manhandle the gun. You know Silas – he's Number Four.' Ben continued around the table. ‘Then we've Oliver Macintosh.' He nodded to a dark-skinned man. ‘He's Number Five. Escaped a life of slavery in Jamaica to volunteer for a life of slavery in the Royal Navy. Can't say you notice much difference, eh, Oliver?'

Oliver raised a weary eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Ahm a free man 'ere, as much as any o' you lot. An' I get paid the same money, so I'd say it were a better life, yes.'

This was a debate no one wanted to get drawn into, so Ben moved on to the final man in his crew. ‘And this is
Edmund Ackersley from Bolton, Lancashire. He's Number Six. He's a volunteer as well.'

I couldn't understand why an ordinary seaman would volunteer for a life aboard a fighting ship, so I asked Edmund why he did it. He'd worked in a mill, he said, and had struggled to feed his growing family.

‘By 'eck, I never had enough for nuthin'. Y' get more meat on a Navy ship than we ever 'ad at 'ome. Bit o' bacon once a week, and a few potatoes. Cheese I never 'ad till I came on board. I like the Navy life. Y' don't have to worry yerself about nowt, save gettin' killed or maimed o' course! No candles t' buy, no rent t' worry about, no wood f' fire. No moanin' missus and screamin' infants. It suits me fine.'

The other men round the table raised their eyes to the ceiling when Edmund talked. I sensed they did not care for his company. I could see why.

Edmund started to tell me about the boy I'd replaced, who'd been blown to pieces when a stray spark floated into his half-opened cartridge box. I quickly said that Captain Mandeville had already told me. That didn't stop him. ‘Nothing left of him except his feet and the stumps of his ankles.' The men also told me about the powder monkey who'd had both his arms blown off when a lucky musket shot had hit his cartridge box. ‘He looked like a seal after that,' said Edmund, with rather too much glee for my liking.

I didn't want to hear, but the more I protested, the more it spurred them on. ‘One lad had his insides blown out at the top of the hatchway. Gizzards caught in the coaming, and when he fell down the stairs they all spooled out. It was horrible.' I got paler and paler. Only when they told me about the boy who'd been blown to pieces and all that was left of him were a pair of teeth and his eyeballs, and the teeth had said, ‘My, that stings,' did I realise that they were teasing me.

I knew seamen often joked about the things they feared most, but this wasn't helping me at all. Sometime very soon, if I could not escape before we took to sea, I would have to help fire these fearsome weapons.