A Ship for The King by Richard Woodman Read Free Book Online Page B

had trodden a deck; knowing that his claim to advancement relied upon his professionalism rather than his breeding, he feared a humiliation and in an attempt to overcome his nausea, addressed the nearer of the two straining boatmen.
    â€˜Tell me, which is the Prince Royal ?’ It was a question he instantly regretted, for he had made it without consideration. The man spat to leeward and raised an eyebrow which, as he leaned forward to ply his oar, gave him the appearance of leering at Faulkner.
    â€˜Why, the flagship, o’course . . .’ the man observed with unhelpful contempt.
    Faulkner peered over the undulating shoulders of the two boatmen; the anchorage was crowded with shipping. Coasting vessels and tenders slipped between the larger shapes of men-of-war which were in silhouette against the bright sunlight dancing in reflections off the short, choppy seas cut up by a wind blowing over the tide. This contrary quality of nature caused the squadron to lie athwart both wind and tide and lie almost end-on to anyone approaching from Portsmouth. Seeing his passenger’s eyes darting about from one man-of-war to another, the boatman spat to leeward again.
    â€˜From London are ye, sir?’
    â€˜Aye . . .’ Faulkner answered warily.
    â€˜An’ the first time you’ve joined a ship, eh?’
    â€˜In Portsmouth, yes, but I’ve seen a deal of service . . .’
    â€˜Have ye now . . .’ The boatman seemed to consider this and reassess his passenger. He was anxious to get a good tip beyond the shilling he had already extorted from him. ‘You see the three largest vessels, over against the island, sir . . .’
    â€˜Yes, I do . . .’
    â€˜The westernmost one is the Swiftsure , of forty-two guns wearing the flag of Lord Windsor; the easternmost is the St Andrew , also of forty-two guns and flying the flag of Vice Admiral Lord Morley. The Prince Royal lies between the two, sir, a full fifty-five guns and Sir Henry Mainwaring in command with the Earl of Rutland expected tomorrow, but you’ll know that coming from Court, sir,’ the man added ingratiatingly.
    Faulkner was no longer listening; he was peering at the ship the boatman had identified. She presented her huge stern to the mainland and, as they drew nearer, the vast size of the ship began to impress itself upon him. Why, the Swallow might nestle in her waist! She was huge! And he could see as she swung slightly that she sported four masts! Something entirely new opened up in the pit of Faulkner’s stomach; all fear of seasickness vanished in the face of a naked apprehension: could he cope with handling this monster? Why she must have a crew of . . . of perhaps four hundred men?
    Something of this may have betrayed him, for the boatman added, ‘Some twelve hundred tons she measures, sir, and with a crew of five hundred men.’
    â€˜ Five hundred!’ Faulkner was unable to conceal his astonishment: five hundred men! Why, the Swallow , even with her crew augmented by gunners to ward off the Sallee Rovers mustered no more than twenty eight!
    â€˜And her guns on three decks, sir,’ added the boatman, aware that he was impressing his young passenger and doling out the information as if he himself were the author of all this naval puissance. Faulkner stared at the looming bulk of the great man-of-war as he was pulled past the lesser vessels in the squadron, though even these, except perhaps the pinnaces Charles and Seven Stars , would dwarf the Swallow . He counted the gun-ports in the larboard side of the Antelope and, doubling them, guessed her to mount about three dozen pieces, the Bonaventure perhaps the same and the Rainbow more. Two heavier ships were too distant for him to make any such estimate, nor would he learn their names until later as the St George and Defiance . They were now closing the Prince Royal and Faulkner had