Mean Sun (24 page)

It was the sight of the silver, however, that excited the keenest interest in my fellow crewmen. Several merrymaking fellows made a show of snatching up a fist of silver and hiding it under their shirts to roars of laughter. Captain Hearne sat in a great teak chair taking amusement in our delight.

“’Tis the payout!” exclaimed the men around me in shrill whispers. Every face beamed with anticipation.

Whitehead hopped atop one of the benches and ordered silence, which came in an instant.

“Gentlemen,” said Whitehead, “Captain Hearne has generously allowed his prize for Wen Xi’s return to be shared out to his loyal crew for their courage. As we all know, Captain Hearne is a river to those who serve under him—” Here a thunderous cheer was sent up and a loud series of salutes to the captain, who modestly waved them down from his chair. Whitehead continued after the hoopla subsided. “Every man here, according to his rank, will share fairly in the prize. Beginning with the seamen and marines, each and every one shall receive two hundred Chinese coppers!”

All eyes grimly shifted to the stacks of cash coins along the bench. Mr. Jacobs picked up a pair of coppers from a stack and held them to his eyes and peeked through their holes.

“And what do we make of these?” he inquired with a surly edge.

“They are Chinese currency and may be used in the marketplace,” said Whitehead. “Much like our own English sovereign, they can purchase wine, food, women, if you wish, or any item that meets your fancy. Step up, gentlemen, and collect your shares.”

The ordinaries and marines, which included me, made a grumbling formation that led out into the dusky street.

“’A river,’” he says, mocked Mr. Rollins. “More like piss from a goat, I’d say.”

Mr. Moody chimed in: “A woman wouldn’t trade a whisker for a whole sack of them coins.”

I waited my turn and caught the stack of coins in a pocket I made in my shirt. Mr. Jacobs and Mr. Woodman were each given four hundred coppers. The payout in sliver included the petty officers, warrant officers and lieutenants. It was rumored that ninety ingots of silver was left behind for the captain himself.

Most of the men were eager to spend their small fortunes on whatever diversion presented it.

For my part, I was directed by one of the servants to a goldsmith not far from the waterfront. The shop was the size of a larder, with two old men working elbow to elbow on sundry ornaments in different metals. I had been told the Chinese word for silver and, with gestures, made the men understand my business. After much haggling, they agreed to trade my store of copper cash in exchange for three small sycees, barely five grams of silver in total. Still, it was the first coin that was my own and I felt as rich as a king.

Chapter 20

The Phoenix

Not long after we scuttled the
Sovereign,
British ships began arriving in Canton with regular frequency. Men were reassigned to other ships, while others boarded merchant vessels to work their passage home. The British East India Company supplied Lord Douglas with funds to begin the construction of his trade post. Soon hundreds of Chinese workers were rebuilding the docks and warehouses and adding new structures. Lord Douglas worked beside them day and night.

As our numbers dwindled in the barracks I began to fret over my situation. Several large ships of the line had come and gone—the
Excelsior
, the
Vigilant
, the
Trident—
impressive second-and third-raters with large crews. Mr. Woodman, Mr. Rollins, Mr. Jacobs and all of the marines and officers had been reassigned. I stood on the docks and watched with gloom as their ships departed.

Except Mr. Moody, Mr. Wouk and a handful of others, all strangers to me, there were few sailors left. We shared company in the evenings, passing the time playing card games or storytelling, yet all of us felt a private unease at having been left for the last.

Captain Hearne remained in Canton but had taken a house outside our precinct. The house was said to be lavish and well attended with servants, and thus we saw very little of him but received reports from those who did. Captain Hearne was set to depart aboard the
Noah
, one of the company vessels victualing in Canton. The captain was an old friend who was on his way home to England with a full belly of Chinese trade goods.

The night before his departure, to our surprise, Hearne came striding in from the darkness and into our ring of lanterns at a table where Mr. Moody and I sat smoking tobacco and brooding. We both sprang to attention as he came into view.

“Relax, gentlemen,” he said as he leafed through a handful of sealed envelopes that he had taken from a satchel. “Let’s see now, Mr. William Moody and Mr. Daniel Wren.” From the stack he plucked out two, held them under one of the dipping lanterns and then held one out to each of us. “It is fortunate I find the two of you together. You are both assigned to the
Phoenix.
These are your orders.”

“May I inquire about the ship, sir?” asked Moody.

“She’s listed as a sixth-rater,” said Hearne. “But she’s as small as a wasp and should be unrated insofar as I’m concerned. She’s this new specie of ship called the attack sloop, twenty guns. She’s been recently launched and already has made a busy history for herself.”

“Her captain, sir?”

“Robert Henchly is his name,” replied Hearne. “I’ve never met the fellow, but understand that he’s young and ardent, as is his crew, which he handpicked himself. You, Mr. Wren, will be his new master’s mate. His last one was shot through the head unfortunately in the Gulf of Benegala.”

“Aye, sir,” I said dismally. “Thank you, Captain.”

He spread out a document and handed me a quill and ink that he fished from his satchel.

“I need your signature here,” said Hearne, indicating the paper. “It means you accept your promotion.”

Before I signed, Mr. Moody discreetly tossed an elbow into my side.

“Don’t despair, Mr. Wren,” said Hearne with a laugh. “I heard tell this is an enterprising, lively bunch.”

He took the signed document; rolled it up and tucked it into is coat.

“When does she arrive, sir?” I asked.

“She should arrive within the next day or two,” answered Hearne. “I have, alas, no other intelligence for you, gentlemen.”

Hearne gave us a proper salute.

“It has been a pleasure to serve with you, gentlemen,” he declared. “Remember to visit me in London should you find yourself there.”

“Thank you, Captain,” we both replied.

“We are all sorry about Mr. Grimmel,” he remarked to me, pausing at the afterthought. “He was a good advocate for you.”

Mr. Moody turned to me as the captain disappeared.

“You’re not a bloody midshipman, Wren!” said he. “Why did you sign?”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Most master’s mates are passed-midshipmen, commissioned junior officers,” he shot back. “You signed as a warrant officer. That’s
seven
years, man! At nineteen shillings!”

A knot rose in my throat.

“Seven years?!” I repeated in a withering voice.

The
Noah
departed early the next morning as the tide was shifting to sea. Before leaving, Captain Hearne had sold our junk to a Chinese trader and pocketed the profit.

“I’ll not be paying a visit to him,” remarked Mr. Moody, watching the Noah ease up river. “He’ll set the dogs on us.”

Chapter 21

Our New Family

A fierce thunderstorm deluged the city the following day, driving everyone to shelter. The rain hammered the roof of our barracks and raced along the channels, pouring down into the courtyard in noisy, gushing streams. All the while thunder and lightning broke overhead so loudly it made the heart cower.

Like his name, Mr. Moody’s spirit plunged to fresh depths. He stood at the corridor watching the turgid skies rage above. William Moody, I learned, was from a tiny hamlet outside of London. He had signed on to the navy in his sixteenth year and was presently in his third as an ordinary seaman. His mother had given birth to seven children but only he and a sister had survived. His sister was employed as a maid on an estate where she lived.

“It was a great mistake joining up in the navy,” he remarked, slapping at a trickle of water before him. “A toad has more sense in him. There’s no harder a life, Mr. Wren. And it doesn’t get easier. Believe me, Mr. Midshipman.”

“At least you did it of your own volition,” I replied.

“I have proved myself a stupid man time and time again,” he growled. “Hold out two choices and I will always claim the wrong one.” He looked over at me. “But you should have no gripe, Mr. Wren.”

“Why is that?”

“Barely out of your swaddling and the old man boots you up to master’s mate,” he said. “Why? Because you delivered a prize to him. That’s the way of it, isn’t it? While old Moody plucks ochre and plays the holystone.”

Tickled by his grim humor, I laughed aloud. He turned and regarded me fondly, then joined in the joke.

“What would you be doing if you weren’t a sailor?”

“Milking teats, I suppose,” said he, “and spanking flies.”

“Well then?”

“Teats are scarce in this man’s navy.”

“Do you miss home, Mr. Moody?”

“What I miss, Mr. Wren,” he answered, pensively mulling over the clouds, “is the tranquility of the countryside. Standing in a forest alone. Watching a river flow with no mind to do a thing. Walking over bare earth. And I miss the sounds. What about you, Mr. Wren?”

It took a moment for me to flush out an answer, which seemed disingenuous even as I spoke it, for I was looking into a void. I missed nothing, except Ruth. But I would be misplaced in my old world.

“My liberty,” I said. “I could like never to take another order.”

“That takes hard specie and plenty of it,” replied Moody. “I tell you, my friend, the light of luck crowns your head. I shall stick close to you.”

My first bit of luck was my new acquaintance with Mr. William Moody.

Three days of rains and the air was cool, soft and radiant. The city of Canton was washed of her dust, debris and odors. It was the first hint that a new season was approaching. The wind became mild and steady and the humor of the citizens followed suit.

That afternoon Mr. Moody came bounding into the barracks in a tumult.

“She’s arrived!” he said. “The
Phoenix
. Dropping anchor as we speak.”

I quickly reached for my boots and slipped on my shirt.

“How does she appear?” I asked.

“Smaller than I imagined she’d be,” he replied. “Twenty guns, like Hearne said, but mostly six-pounders with nine-pounders at her waist. Maybe seventy crew, if that many. Pretty little bitch. She’s been in disputes. I could see teeth marks along her larboard bow and along her flank. I’d wager she’s a scrapper.”

With our orders tucked into our belts Mr. Moody and I trotted along toward the harbor. As we neared, my apprehension began to fester.

“Six-pounders could barely blow out a candle,” I remarked. “Why would she look for trouble? A ship that small would not be allowed to stand in the line.”

Mr. Moody seemed perturbed by my question.

“Mr. Wren,” replied he, in a condescending tone, “First, second, third-raters are for show. They make sweet paintings. But they’re useless against pirates and raiders, who can chase up a river or a channel. They also carry the dispatches and do the hard work of blockades. Every war is waged by the small ships, the sixth-raters and sloops.”

As we neared, through the cluster of spars and hulls, I caught my first glimpse of the
Phoenix
’s port quarter. From her mizzenmast hung a flag and a pendant, playing lazily in the breeze. Both the fore and main masts towered over the mizzen. Everything about her seemed as fresh as the changing season. All her brass sparkled and winked. Two broad, salty windows marked the gallery. She was painted overall in a greenish black that gave her smooth and glassy lines. Her furled sails contrasted white and flawless. In truth, I could not imagine how her two decks could accommodate even forty men, let alone upwards of sixty.

Still, she was a lovely, dainty object and I found myself doting on her slender form and modest adornments.