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    My name is Robert Augustus Sleighton, and I am an author, not by choice, but by necessity. I am a man of words, which means, without them, I am nothing. I am thought to be an odd man, a man who does not fit in his role as a man, does not fit in the world as a person, nor fits as a person in a universe. I am alone with my own fantasy of words, particularly those lent me by those who spoke and thought them.  I speak for those who can no longer speak to you by word, written or spoken.

    From these words, I create the people I want to meet, as well as improve on the ones I do meet. In this pursuit, I am a gay, enchanting, loving person who is celebrated by those I describe and manipulate. Sometimes, I create a person of such personality and magnitude, that I no longer am in control of this individual, and he or she becomes bigger than life itself. It is these persons, I bask in their light, bend backwards at their persuasive power and influence.

    At this point in time, it is a cold March day in 1777. I am sitting on a block of wood considering my surroundings in a shipyard. I will not name the yard, because, in doing so, I would be letting you know the truth. You would be able to come here and compare what I see with what you see. I see the carcasses of ships waiting to be born, being born, being rent asunder and dying. I see the worms of man devouring the bodies of old ships, and I see the infinite particles of man, the particles that God used to assemble Man himself, building ships.

    These ships are people, and those who do not believe me have never haunted the shipyards like I do. They don’t come here at night and listen to the boards expand in the rain and contract in the brilliant sunshine. They don’t know a bung from a barrel. I listen to them talk to each other, think to themselves, share their plights with those who wander among them and move about within them. I am a friend to these man-made creatures of the sea.

    They are awkward and fat, wide at the girth and gangly as they sit on their wooden pillars waiting for the blessing of the sea’s waters. Soon they are launched, and drink of the fresh waters of the rivers that flow them to the salt and rigors of the oceans. Men occupy them and stand their posts in a manner that makes them part of the ship itself. Together, they are one being, helpless without the other, invincible together.

    I am writing down this story, which I am afraid, God has deemed to be unfinished, since I am ill. I have been ill all of my miserable life, but I have been given a gift, in turn, for my willingness to accept my fate and suffer. I have been given the body of a dead man, but I have been given the imagination of an angel. I preen under the pressure of my own quill and bathe in the inks I make. I unfold my wretched self over the parchment in the dim light of the lamp and the overwhelming light of the sun.

    I am currently sitting below the hull of a ship named the Feenicks, an odd vessel, much like myself, manufactured from the waste of others. She is a noble ship, made by a noble man whom you shall come to love. He is of another world, but no one told him. He goes by the name of Allard Prenter, and he has, without his direct permission, but by intimate interview, allowed me to inquire, study and share his life. I am honored to be considered part of the ship that Prenter built, a frigate of personal magnitude so great that the collective mass of man cannot put down its personality and grace as a being. This ship is alive, and she represents what man refuses to understand, and that is the power of existence inherent in all we build. We build from the particles God gave us, and we refuse to believe that there is life in those particles, and what we construct is the collective life of the particles from which it was created. In other words, we do not understand what God did when he built us.

    This document will remain with this ship until such time as Allard Prenter informs me that the truth must be conveyed to others for other eyes to read and that its level of completion will be dictated by the fates befalling her. He has not said this in words, but I know them to be true. He looks at me now and then as he wanders the ship completing her body and giving her life. His eyes tell me more than his simple tongue could ever convey. He knows I must do what I must, and he his appointed task. Together, the three of us are one.

    When you are reading this, you will be affected forever, and you will never know the fate of the Feenicks unless she, herself, decides to reveal herself. As a man with an imagination and a flair for the dramatic, I believe she will eventually divest herself of her human burden, then sink slowly into the sea to dissolve back into the ingredients from which she came. I am too much a man of emotion to believe anything else. Since all vessels are, like people, variable in personality and vibrancy, many suffer lesser and greater fates, but Feenicks is special. Like her namesake, she will rise again to influence man and help them carry their burdens about the globe.

    Unlike her, I must sink into obscurity where no man or ship can go. I will be blessed with grace only after death when those like you read my story and bring my essence to the surface with the foam and the glory of the sunlight again. Please be gentle with me and brace me against soft pillows of satin. Wash me of my dirt and cleans me in a manner befitting one who has never experienced these fond things. I give you what remains of me, not in picture or other image, but as a spectacular figure of words blended with speculation, creativity and imagination. What I speak is through the characters I know and create. I am just a little god, but better to be a little god then no god at all.

 

 

The Stage is Set for this Story

 

In the year 1660, the Navy Board is created which sets the stage for the events that lead a number of colorful people to join with an eccentric English frigate and go to a new America in 1781.

 

---

 

PART ONE

 

Allard Prenter, the Maker of Ships (and Men)

 

1

 

June 22, 1688: A boy is born in a small house near Portsmouth Navy Yard to a rigger father and maid mother.

 

 

    Allard Prenter was born early in the morning near Portsmouth Navy Yard to a father who was a rigger and a mother who was a maid to the Commissioner. The Prenters lived in a rented house in the south side of town with the elder Prenter’s sister, her husband and six children.

    The father was beside himself with joy and stared gratefully at his exhausted wife who lay in a heap. She smiled weakly and decided not to tell her hopelessly romantic husband that the son he held was not his. She also decided not to tell him that the real father was an aristocrat who helped himself to her charms, once a week, in one of the luxurious bedrooms of the Commissioner’s home on Wednesdays.

    She omitted the fact that her job description included entertaining a "gentleman" of London, and that many of the recent Prenter "opportunities," as a family, were the direct result of her activities. Prenter was not noted for his ability to discern and had ignorantly accepted her professional services to include the changing of sheets and the tidying of bedrooms when the exact opposite was true.

    As far as her employer was concerned, the Commissioner remained aloof of the situation and simply enjoyed the gratitude of a "satisfied" Navy Board associate, knighted for his services to James II. The associate’s visits were quite inexpensive, and his encounter, by request, with the incredibly lovely Mrs. Prenter far surpassed anything offered professionally in London.

    Mrs. Prenter had had the misfortune of falling in love with a truly good, virtuous, loyal, handsome, loving and totally inept young man. He became a rigger because it was the Commissioner’s part of the agreement for her to perform her half with a dashing lord of London. Prenter had been perfect for the job, because he had a good sense of balance and was not afraid of heights. He would walk across yardarms aloft as easily and confidently as when they were on dunnage at ground level.

    His soft sense of humor, good nature and easy manner had swept the young girl off her feet. Her incredible beauty and intelligence had not escaped the youthful Prenter, and he often wondered why she had forsaken so many of the other men in town in favor of him. In her own way, she had sacrificed herself on his behalf, but she could never tell him. Her dedication would have to go unheralded and unrecognized, at least for now.

    She did not move over when her husband sat on the bed and gave her the child, but she did reach out put her hand gently on his shoulder. He cupped her hand and pressed his face against her long fingers. She studied his eyes as they closed. She closed hers and sank into the depths of shame and darkness but not before thinking of the small packet of papers that had been securely placed into a unique, gnarled wooden cylinder that lay warmly next to her. She had placed special papers "gifts" away in case she had not lived through the birth of her son. She had also rubbed the initials JD from the one end.

    "Would you put this back on the shelf. I used it as a grip to relieve myself of the pain, but I don’t need it anymore." She handed the cylinder to her husband who did not notice that it could be twisted into two pieces. He dutifully placed it on the shelf and returned to his wife and son. She thanked the man who met with her weekly for having given her the cylinder, a personal method he had designed to shield papers and money from theft.

 

2

June 22, 1700:  Allard Prenter, now 12, begins his first day of work at Portsmouth Navy Yard.  This event is a birthday present from his father and mother.

 

    June 22, 1700 was a wonderful day, and Allard ran in the early light of the morning. He skipped over the rocks and grooves pretending he was a ship on the high seas. Ahead, moving steadily, was his father whom he loved dearly, not so much because he was his father but because he was taking him to work for the first time. He, Allard, was to work his first day at the Navy Yard cleaning the lofts for the sailmakers.

    As they went through the east gate, he joined his father and pressed himself against his strong body. The older man put down his wide hand and cupped his son to him. "Today you earn your first pay. That makes it a fine day; any day you work for pay is a fine day. Are you going to make us proud on your birthday?" The two passed between and Master Caulker’s house and the adjoining Builder’s Assistant’s residence.

    "I am, Father, I am going to make us all proud. I am going to work and work and work and work," the boy sputtered pushing his face out from his father’s billowing shirt. "I am going to give you my money and have you teach me how to spend and save it. Someday, I will buy a ship and sail away."

    The elder Prenter stopped and bent down. His dark eyes glittered in the early light. Allard stared at his father. "My boy, you must know that it was your mother who arranged for this day." He crouched down and put his heavy arms on the boy’s shoulders. "She gave me the finest gift a man could ask for when she told me this morning that the Commissioner had approved your employ and that we would begin working together.

    "We both had hoped this would come, but, as you know, the Commissioner does not talk to me or the likes of me. Your mother works in his House, and he was kind enough to listen to her request; she has earned his respect, you know. Someday, if you are given the chance, you will thank the Commissioner for his thoughtfulness. You thank your mother tonight when we go home." He pulled the boy to him and gave him a hug.

    "I will, Father," Allard promised, feeling an immense sense of pride in his father, mother and himself. "Let’s go before we are late. I can’t wait to begin."

    The two stood and moved off into the early purple shadows. As they walked, the buildings in the distance were bathed in the early golden light of a new summer day. The front of the Commissioner’s house faced west and was in the shadows. A lone figure stood quietly studying the scene before him. He puffed on a pipe and ignored the rising sun and his attendant. His eyes were on the boy, not the tall, quickly moving adult. It had been brought to his attention that the boy was starting work today, and it would be a good opportunity for the official to see his son for the first time. When the tall man and boy disappeared into the tarred yarn house, he turned away from his attendant so he wouldn’t have to look at him.

 

3

 

October 10, 1701 is the day Allard’s mother dies, along with her infant son, in the throws of childbirth.  Allard is 13.

 

 

    His father said nothing because there was nothing to say. Allard watched the tortured man walk outside the parish church in Portsmouth and drop his head into his hands. This was not a time for Allard, and he knew it. To walk outside and join his father would intrude on his sorrow which had to be washed out through his eyes to drain his soul. Tomorrow would be a good day to search his father’s face for traces of hope and recovery. Tomorrow would be a good day to remind him that he was there for him even though he was thirteen. It had been a year since he had begun work in the sail lofts, and he was already helping in the occupation. There would be no more sweeping for him.

    The senior Prenter had left the front of the small house and had walked toward the Yard and the dark moving waters that smoothed the pilings and bulkheads. His eyes no longer saw the buildings and the grounds. At the empty building slip, he contemplated the scene and let his attention go to the few ships riding at their anchors. Each looked majestic and powerful, the opposite of how he felt. He looked up and raised his hands and brought his arms down to his chest; his hands were fists.

    He moved to the water’s edge and looked down. The toes of his shoes were over the edge, and his balance kept him from falling. It would take an effort to overcome his common sense and balance, but he was prepared to take that step until he felt someone next to him. He looked around and saw Allard standing there. "Father, I was going to leave you alone until tomorrow, but I felt some things should not be left until tomorrow." He leaned forward and pushed against his father who stepped back to keep from falling into the dark water. "I am sorry for what happened to Mother and your new son."

    "How can you be sorry? What happened had nothing to do with you."

    "If one can’t change what is about to happen, and it happens, we must all take a piece of the responsibility for not being able to stop it, even if it is beyond our control."

    "Who told you that?" The man turned and began to walk away from the water’s edge; his son followed.

    "Mother."

 

4

June 22, 1703, Allard and his father leave their house and move aboard their recently acquired derelict sloop, Leanore.

 

    She wasn’t the most picturesque site, but she was afloat, at least for the moment. Allard was surprised that anyone would give a boat to anyone else, but that is exactly what happened. Someone gave the ship to the Commissioner, William Giffard. The two men, one older and the other fifteen, surveyed the structure of loosely held-together wood. The craft even smelled like she should fall apart. Allard was beside himself with joy, and his father was beginning to think that the idea of living on a boat was, perhaps, a bit premature. Maybe a few months of maintenance and repair would have been better than moving out of their accustomed house and piling all their possessions, as meager as they were, aboard this derelict ship, all eighty feet of her.

    The Commissioner had struck a deal with Allard’s father that he and his son could live on board the old ship if they agreed to repair and restore her. Allard pushed his bags through the hatch and pulled the heavy sliding portion closed over their heads. A lone lantern burned below. As he studied their new surroundings, the older man laughed, and his son joined him. Together, father and son laughed until the creaking became louder than their voices.

    It took one month to stop the leaks and dry the boat. It took another month to get the Leanore to stop making catastrophic noises, particularly in the middle of the night. The idea of careening the hulk to work on the bottom terrified their friends in the Yard as well as the new owner. Everyone, including the Commissioner Giffard, was certain the ship would break apart when heeled over so far, but the old Leanore fooled everyone and bared her bottom with dignity. She accepted her scraping, caulking, tarring and additional attention quietly. Both sides of her bottom were soon secure.

    Father and son worked in the Yard at their appointed jobs during the day and burned oil in the evening to finish the sloop to where she actually appeared to be a ship of the sea. Some paint was applied, and varnish went on bare wood. In another month, the ship was where the father thought it should be, safe. Allard sat in front of his father and waved his head from side to side. "No, Father, she is not done. She is just begun." The younger man waved his hand as if to survey an estate. "When we are done, she will be the talk of the Yard."

    "And then what?" asked the father with a smile.

    "Then we will work a bigger and better ship," answered Allard standing up and taking down the lantern. He walked from place to place announcing his intentions at every knee and plank. By the time he returned to the simple table, the Leanore, was a yacht in demand by every nobleman from Portsmouth to London.

    "And then what?" insisted the older man who also waved his hand about. "Once the Commissioner sells this, our home, then where will we live? We might have to move back in with your auntie and your cousins. It think not, my young charger."

    "We can find another ship."

    "People like us don’t own ships, my Son. Sit down. I have to teach you a lesson in life."

Allard dropped himself onto the table bench and cradled his chin in his hands. "Do I now get a speech?"

    "Yes. We have survived many bad days as a family, and the family is smaller than it was supposed to be, but we are alive and well. We have work and food, a bit of dignity among people of our own kind. We laugh and play, have some drink and sing. This ship was supposed to die when her owners condemned her and left here for the Commissioner as a joke. Only the grace of the Commissioner and our friends in the Yard saved her, and she is now our home. Be pleased with each day." The man’s booming laughter filled the length and breadth of the sloop.

    Allard joined him in laughter. He rejoiced in the fact that this was the first time his father had laughed out loud since the death of his mother and unborn brother. It was worth it, he thought, as he laughed with his father. His own freedom didn’t seem to matter when he looked into his father’s eyes. He truly loved this man and the ship that would be their home for the next few years. He was also thankful that the storehouses of the Yard were so full of victuals, that some of it ended up in the homes and bellies of the workers.

 

5

August 3, 1703, Allard’s father gives him a bag of his wife’s belongings, smiles and passes away of a fever.  Allard puts his mother’s bag away in a safe place.

 

    Allard was fourteen and was growing into a man. He was broad shouldered and his black hair was tidied in a manner of a young gentleman, but his calloused hands gave him away as a man of work and not leisure. He had, in the last year, learned ten years of talent from the men of the Yard. He had worked tirelessly in one shop after another and volunteered to serve in any capacity as long as he could learn. From the sawpits to the storehouse; from the great basin to the mast ponds. Allard was seen everywhere, and this did not escape the attention of the Master Shipwright and the Commissioner.

    Allard had jumped down from the wharf and landed with a resounding crash on the deck. Quickly he dropped down the main companionway to the cabin below. He accumulated some ingredients and heated a hot soup for his father and himself. Once ready, the boy grabbed some spoons and headed aft to the large cabin in which he father lay. He had been suffering from a fever and was not well, but it appeared, in the morning, that he would recover nicely. When he entered the cabin, he saw that there might be another fate befalling his father.

    "How are you, Father?" asked Allard moving to the bunk that ranged across the winds at the stern.

    "I have been better, my Son," hissed the man who had, only this morning, sung a short song. "I think I have taken a turn for the worse. I don’t feel well at all."

    Allard fed his father some soup and then some home brew that had been volunteered by some Yard mates. The older man reached over and took a simple bag from a locker. Allard was surprised that in this small ship there could possibly be anything he hadn’t seen before. "I hope that is full of money, Father," Allard joked.

    The older man chuckled a bit before fading into a wispy hiss. "In a way, the contents of this bag are riches far and above that of money, my Boy." In a moment, the ends were loosened, and the contents rolled out onto the blanket. "These are your mother’s things. We want you to have them."

    "Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Father?" Allard asked as his eyes went over the items that he had never seen.

    "I’m afraid not, my Boy. I don’t think there is much time. A man knows when he’s dying because he can hear things that the healthy can’t hear." His hand went to a gnarled cylinder. "This was held by your mother when you were born. When she died she had this in her hands to help her with her new baby, but it failed her. At the last moment, she held it out to me and insisted I give this to you and tell you never to be without it. She began to twist it in her hands, and I don’t know, to this day, what it was she was trying to tell me, but it’s up to you now. It was very important for her, so it became very important to me. Now, it is very important for you and your sons and daughters when it’s time for them. Maybe you will let your wife use this at the right time. I guess it twists time in some way."

    "I will keep this and all the other things, but I don’t think you are going to die." Allard would not accept the logic his father was putting forth. The older man pulled the covers up to his chin and smiled.

    "I have always told you the truth, because I never wanted to have to explain to you why I hadn’t, and I have no intention of starting to tell stories now. Sit here and hold my hand. That way I can pass into the next world and hold your mother and my other son’s hands and still know part of me is still here holding yours." His father held out his hand. Allard took it and sat silently. It wasn’t long before the squeeze subsided. Allard stayed the rest of the night holding his father’s hand. He wanted to make sure the link remained as long as he could.

 

6

Spain loses Gibraltar, and the Master Shipwright is asked to leave Portsmouth to begin building a new Yard.  Allard is promoted.

 

    Since it was the custom to have the Master Shipwright design and build buildings and other structures at the various Navy Yards after their drawings were approved by the Navy Board, Portsmouth proved to be no different. The current Master Shipwright was tasked to go to Gibraltar to build structures. Since there would be no scheduled shipbuilding, the Shipwright would return in a year or so to Portsmouth.

    Allard was called to the office of the Master Shipwright and informed, with the Commissioner attending, that he was to apprentice to the new Shipwright in a manner that would make the new official feel comfortable with those who must serve his efforts in the absence of the present Shipwright. Allard was complimented beyond words.

    The Shipwright spoke through a list of Allard’s accomplishments, apprenticeships, formal and informal, his levels of dedication, selflessness and generosity. He was praised for being the only man in the Yard who did not complain about the pay and its rather unscheduled, unpredictable disbursement. As he ended his short speech, he came forward and expressed his gratitude to the boy’s father for having sired such an impressive young man.

    Allard thought of his father, the man he had buried recently on a particularly windy day. In his haze, he was starkly unaware of the man in the corner with the pipe who studied him and seemed pleased at his new appointment.

 

7

 

July 10, 1706, Allard marries Anne Sway, the daughter of a local merchant.

 

 

    Allard felt he was more alive than he could ever remember. It was his wedding day, and the celebration had lasted for hours. The Yard was completely involved, so involved in fact, one might assume that a son of the Yard itself had gotten married. In a sense, this view would not be that far from fact. Even the Commissioner made a brief appearance, and presented the young couple with a set of warm blankets.

    Once aboard the Leanore, the couple tumbled into the same berth that had accommodated his father. Now that he was the captain of the captive sloop, he wanted to celebrate his wedding night is a fashion of the sea and not be on land. The bride’s father was not enamored with the idea of his daughter living on a ship, but he had known the Prenters for many years and a large part of his family worked at the Yard.

    When Allard realized he was falling in love with the blazing redhead, he began dedicating more time to their new home and finished the Leanore in a splendid fashion. She was a beautiful piece of woodwork and made her heritage of local service proud. The former owners of the ship sent large brass cabin lights for the new couple.

    Allard began talking about this option when his new wife spread herself over his words and body. Until late in the morning, there were no more words other than those spoken in the heat of the night.

    Once Leanore was completed, the Commissioner came down to the docks to survey his private ship, once hulk. He admired her from stem to stern then walked back to the boy and his young wife. He whispered something to an aide, leaned forward and shook Allard’s hand. He bowed lightly to his wife then walked off officiously.

    The aide moved to a position directly between Allard and the departing official. "Sir," he began. "The Commissioner has directed me to inform you that he wishes to present you and your wife with the Leanore as a wedding present and as a place to raise a family of sailors and/or craftsmen who will serve England well."

    The boy began to go around the aide, but he stepped deftly in his path. "Sir. The Commissioner is a modest man and accepts your appreciation. Your continued dedication and service will be thanks enough." With this, the aide turned and moved off to follow the Commissioner and his entourage.

    Allard’s love affair with life lasted until the moment he was brought back into the aft cabin by the physician who informed him that he had lost both mother and child. It was August 30, 1707, the day Allard ceased to think of himself as anything other than a shipbuilding machine.

    That night, Leanore decided to commit suicide and opened up her garboard seams to the sea. Allard woke from his sweating nightmares and stared at the water rising in the cabin. He calmly stepped off his bunk, where the third loss of his young life had occurred. He knelt in the water, his eyes smoldering in his head, and he began to hiss in an uncontrolled fit of shaking and sweating.

    The sweat rolled from his face and fell into the rising water. He placed both hands flat on the cabin floor and sent his rage coursing through his arms, through his hands, into the bottom of the old ship, who seemed to sense his urgency. Miraculously, the water began to leave the ship, and soon, her bilges were damp but empty. Allard recovered from his trance and went back to bed. Neither he nor Leanore ever mentioned the incident again.

 

8

 

January 6, 1708 is the day that Allard is confronted by a press gang from the cutter, Rampage.

 

 

    Allard had completed work on a stern chaser lid. He placed his tools carefully into his bag and made his way forward in the man-of-war. Once on deck, he walked to the gangplank and studied the early evening light. He had once liked the various lights of the day because each signified a different aspect. It was cold, and the bitter air blew through his collar and frosted his neck. He pulled his collar up and walked down to the wharf.

    Once on dry land, he walked past the scavellman’s cabin, along the upper wet dock and turned at the end of the boathouses. It was there, he was confronted suddenly by three men, one with a lantern. "Aye, boy. Tis a fine night to be goin’ to sea, don’t ya think?" the largest man spat thickly.

    Allard began to move from side to side, then backed up. The men mimicked his steps and cut off all retreats. Quickly he ducked one of the men’s large arms and plunged himself into the stables through an open door. He ran down the stalls until he got to the end. At the door, he slipped and fell. All three men were on him in a second. No matter how he resisted, they prevailed.

    Just as the largest man began to bring down his fist, Allard felt a surge of anger, and his own hand went up to meet it. He caught the man’s wrist and brought it down so his face was directly opposed to his assailant’s. Allard’s eyes burned and he felt a tingling down his arms. The man dropped onto the ground; his face was blank. The second man, with the lantern, backed up and studied the man on his knees. His eyes went into the darkness to search for courage from the third man who was standing in wonder. "And what would you have me do on the sea?" Allard moved into the light of the lantern as the man shrank back.

    "We need a swivel gunner, man, a swivel gunner for the cutter Rampage," stuttered the man in the shadows. "What did you do to my mate, here?"

    "You might have been kind enough to ask me, Allard hissed, "but since you’ve been so rude, I am not going to accommodate any of you. Go find someone else. I have ships to build like the one you hail from. You take all the shipbuilders, and you will have to walk to war, now go! You’re in the King’s Navy Yard, and you know you could be hanged. Go!" Allard bellowed as the men moved off toward the end of the stables. Various horses shuffled at their retreat. "And tell the master of the Rampage that Mr. Allard Prenter sends his best wishes on a successful voyage."

    As the light from the lantern became more faint and finally disappeared beyond the far door, Allard stood in the dark and felt the tingling begin to subside. He leaned against a wooden post and let his fingers spread out over the cold surface. The door at the other end slammed shut, and the door next to him opened. He was surprised at his own strength. After a moment, Allard walked out; the door closed behind him. Soon, he was aboard the Leanore asleep.

 

9

From the night of January 6, 1708 to September 2, 1723 Allard Prenter learns how to build ships.  He is offered the position of Master Shipwright at Portsmouth and declines the honor.

 

    During this period, Allard fought to save Leanore from being drafted into the Navy in 1714. He won this battle with the help of the Commissioner who interceded on his behalf. In 1715, he was offered a large amount of money for Leanore, and he accepted. The noble gentleman was elated at having his yacht be this ship, until she refused her helm one clear day and ran herself onto a shoal for no reason, at least no reason a human would understand.

    Under George I, the Triple Alliance was signed, the Spanish Navy was all but destroyed at Cape Passoro by Admiral Byng in 1718, the teenage king of France had his power eclipsed by Fleuri, the Precept, Walpole became Prime Minister, the Venetians adopted the wheel as a standard steering device, and on September 2, 1723, Allard bought an old merchantman ketch, Simon Dale, and moved aboard after a stretch of land-based living at the outside of town. His one attempt to live ashore failed, and he moved back onto the ships, the only friends he seemed to have.

    Allard was now thirty-four, and his renowned work and craftsmanship had become legendary among those who were his fellow workers. Word spread about this quiet, moody man whose hands seem to shape wood to his will. His tools were inordinately crafted, and he was a master at each of the trades. From Portsmouth to Chatham, from Plymouth to Deptford, his reputation grew as young men attempted to acquire an apprenticeship at his side, but this did not happen. Allard remained a plain worker in the trades, and he worked alone, moving from task to task as if driven by requests from the ships themselves.

    The Tudors, who began the Yards, would have been proud of this man who crafted ships, and stories about him began to surface in local songs and in pubs about the areas. The favorite story was about the triple-decker that refused to be launched until, in desperation, the Commissioner asked Prenter to diagnose the problem and get the ship launched. He went to the bow of the ship and put his hands on the cutwater. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the wood. As he disappeared into the crowd of workers, the ship slid slowly into the water.

 

10

 

On May 15, 1726, the widow Miles marries Allard Prenter in a small chapel in town.

 

 

    It was a small ceremony, and few attended because few knew about the wedding. Dona Miles was new to town and had no local relatives. Allard had many admirers, but no friends. The two were married after a short courtship in which the young lady took the lead, and Allard followed.

    Dona Miles was a quiet woman who was full and found, much like the ships on which Allard worked. She lived in a house for single women in Portsmouth and seemed to have a unique power over the man. He liked to put his hands on her face and look into her eyes. It was almost as if they could communicate without speaking. She would smile and kiss him; he would hold her, but no love would come. He just drifted into marriage because there seemed to be no alternative.

    Allard would come home to his wife, and she would make his dinner. He would sit silently with her then retire. The next day, he would work and come home. This went on for two months, until one day, he came home, and she was not there. A note told him that she could no longer remain with him because her half of the marriage seemed to be all there was. Allard folded the note, put it into a small box and went to bed. The next morning, he got up and went to work not knowing that his wife was carrying more than her luggage to America; she was carrying his daughter.

 

11

 

In the Spring of 1736, a boy named Alex sits down next to Allard.

 

 

    Allard was eating his lunch. He sat leaning against a pile of wood and was staring out over the boat pond where a number of newly constructed longboats rested. Among the rows rode his Simon Dale against the bulkhead. The boy who sat down next to him did not disturb his concentration, but rather, stared at the boat pond also. Neither said a word. Once Prenter was finished, he looked at the boy who did not look at him.

    "I love boats and ships and all that go with them," the lad stated in a clear factual manner. They seem to be like hatchlings in a row waiting for their mothers." He turned toward Allard and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Prenter. My name is Alex Dibble, and my father is Sir Byam Dibble of the Navy Board. My brother, Grayson, is twelve and does not show any interest in boats or ships at all."

    "You know my name," said Allard matter-of-factly.

    "When my father showed interest in bringing my brother and me to Portsmouth, I asked him what we were supposed to do while he was with the Commissioner. Our grandfather told us to find Mr. Allard Prenter."

    "And your grandfather is Sir Jack?"

    "Yes, Sir," answered Alex politely.

    "He used to frequent the Yard."

    "I believe he came here once a week, which my father would never do. He thinks this business is dull business, but I don’t. I like ships, and maybe, if I decide to, I might even become an officer." Alex expected Prenter to be proud of him, but he wasn’t.

    "There are better ways to spend a life," mumbled Prenter. "You spend years building these wooden fortresses, put your heart and soul in each and every one, and some person who should have remained ashore, puts them into a battle where they are torn apart along with their crews."

    "We must have ships and crews to defend our shores. These are gallant men in gallant ships," insisted Alex waving his arms and pointing in all directions. "What if the ships of France or Spain vanquished our ships? We could all become slaves."

    "The truth, my young man, is as follows." Prenter stood and stared down at the boy. "If we designed ships correctly and equipped them with the proper weapons, they would admire, respect and fear each other so much, they would sail apart and leave their crew gnashing their teeth and their officers dumfounded. That way we could build ships for commerce and trade instead of war."

    "Sir, I believe I disagree with you. Have you ever sailed on one of these ships?"

Prenter studied the young man, turned and walked away. Alex began to initiate a formidable argument then realized that the debate was over. Mr. Prenter had adjourned their first of many sessions.

 

12

 

It is October, 1739, and England declares war on Spain, Alex Dibble is now 17 and has modified his views on war.

 

 

    "Alright," mumbled Alex as he tipped over his mug of ale. "I will say that I am not pleased with the way things are, the war and all. He turned slowly around the table in the cabin and eyed his companions. Prenter sat in a distant chair and watched the youths sag into the philosophical fog of drunken conversation. The youngest, a bright viscount of fourteen, stood valiantly and waved his mug.

    "If only my illustrious father could see me now," he bellowed so loud his voice bothered every form of life from one end of Simon Dale to the other.

    "Sit down, Gus," demanded Alex. "If you keep yelling, your valorous future on the seas will be flattened, as will ours, if our fathers find out we have these clandestine meetings. We are supposed to be dignified students of the art here at Portsmouth Yard."

    "And I will be hanged," added Prenter, "because you young ‘officers’ cannot manage to ‘command’ your own conduct. As I have said in the past, ‘it is the ship that sails, not the lubberly crew and its pompous commanders, and now you have a war to think about. You should all be drawn and quarterdecked, brought down a notch or two." Prenter drew on his mug and swallowed a large quantity of ale then wiped his mouth. "This ship is alive, my boys, and I must always remember that, or she will take me down with her, if she chooses."

    Augie spoke again. "At the wharf, Mr. Prenter. She will not take you down at the wharf. Perhaps, if we all took her to sea and gave her her quarter....." He stopped as Prenter rose and came over to the table.

    "Mr. Keppel," Prenter began. "I see you as a great commander one day because you have it in your eyes when I see you dream of future battles, even here, at my modest table, among your passionate friends, but you must learn to obey your ship as well as she must learn to obey you. Address your ship and your crew, not one without the other. Once you believe this, you will know what it is I tell you about ship and who they are. "Remember, that the ships you command are former forests swept by the wind and washed by the rain; soon masts and hulls washed by the rain and its mother, the sea. It was once a nurturing home for the creatures of the woods as much as it becomes a refuge and home for you and your crew."

    Gus looked around the cabin at his friends, then at his mug. "Perhaps, I should cant my mug on beams end and drain the bilge." He turned and saluted Prenter who squinted at the young sir. "And to you, Mr. Prenter, I promise never to forget what you have taught each and every one of us in this small elite group of tomorrow’s commanders, aboard your illustrious ship." The youth leaned forward and put his arms around the nearby mast. He let his hands run over the rough cold surface. "To you, Simon Dale, I thank you for your indulgence." With a wave, he fell onto the cabin sole in a heap.

    Alex laughed out loud, "Since our captain, Mr. Keppel, is only a midshipman, he is practicing the art of the mug. I believe we should find one with two handles or one that accommodates a string around the neck so he can hold on to a rail or two. It is clear to us all that the best way to keep from falling down is to lie down." The others laughed and began to gather their belongings. At the moment, none of the young men had legs for the sea or land and what Keppel had developed to this point was of no use to him in his present state.

    Alex moved from the group to Prenter. He put out his hand and found it captured in the huge, rough grip of the older man. "I thank you, my friend, for being so rude a master to those of us who assume to become masters of others in the future. You are a ship unto yourself."

    With this, Alex and the other five young sirs, left the Simon but not before they had collected the young Gus, saluted Mr. Prenter through the companionway hatch, and left the usual clutter of mugs, disarranged chairs and pillows for Prenter to tidy. "If only I could build a ship that wouldn’t go to war, then I could save the sons of mothers married to men who could no longer consider war a way to peace."

 

13

It is 1740, the year the French invented the modern-day frigate, and Mr. Keppel goes to sea with Commodore George Anson.

 

    It was morning, but one would not know it unless a clock was consulted. The lantern was lit, and Prenter was moving about his cabin preparing for his day of shipbuilding. A voice called out from above, and a person stepped aboard the Simon. Prenter moved through to a place below the main companionway hatch and waited to see who had come aboard. There was a knock, and a familiar voice called out. "Mr. Prenter, a moment of your time, please. This is Gus. May I see you for a moment?"

    Prenter moved up the ladder and opened the hatch. Before him stood a young man of fifteen about to go somewhere. He could tell by his dress. "You are leaving, Mr. Keppel. I see you are off to somewhere."

    "Around the world, Mr. Prenter, but I could not go without seeing you. I wanted you to know that I am signed on with Commodore George Anson to circumnavigate the globe and learn about my ship. I am going to practice what you preach, Mr. Prenter, and it seemed only proper and polite to inform you of my intentions. In addition, I want to add my personal appreciation for your time and friendship. One never knows whether the whim of the sea and its sister forces will permit a man to return to his home port." The young gentleman began to shuffle as Prenter moved through the hatch to a position in front of Gus on deck.

    "You are a fine young man, Mr. Keppel. You do your family proud. You will be a fine officer, because it is in your blood, and it shows in your eyes. Good luck, have a good voyage and think of us as you sail. We look forward to your safe return." Prenter stood tall and smiled one of his rare smiles. Keppel stepped forward and gave the man a hug, turned and hastily left the ship.

    Prenter thought of the first time he saw the lad, the times he spend with Alex and his other companion students aboard Simon and in the Yard learning the ways of ships. In a way, he felt he had been a father to these boys even though they had fathers of their own. He thought of his own wonderful father and let his eyes go up toward the heavens through the web of rigging. "I have no natural sons, Father, but I do offer you these young lads who seem to think highly of me."

 

14

In 1741, Mr. Walpole, the Prime Minister of England resigned his post, because of widespread opposition to his stance on France.  His opposite, Cardinal Fleuri, in France, was also in contest over the strange relationship between the two men and these two major powers.  Both nations had allegiances to other countries and participated in their protection.  Both send ships to escort, but insisted that these were not acts of war, rather, circumstances that were unusual but could be accepted by those who thought war was avoidable.  Unfortunately for Mr. Walpole, his constituency did not agree. Mr. Prenter did.

 

    Allard was offered a senior position at the Yard, but, as was typical of his view on life and occupation, he declined and accepted a raise in pay instead. He traded Simon Dale for the fifty-five-foot Cressy, a ship in need of his service. Simon returned to the merchant service as a happy ship that served many years until lost in a storm with all hands many years later.

    In 1743, the Cardinal died, and with Walpole in decline, France and England disagreed in a manner that signaled battle. Fortunately, according to Prenter, France had fewer good ships as compared to England. The count, in frigates, for 1744, was sixty-seven for France, and eighty-four for England, but these number included the older type of frigates also. Prenter was enchanted with the new form of frigate, taken directly from acquired French ships, and decided to make himself a master of the new frigates, now in their first few years for England. He also was curious who determined how many ships were in a foreign service. He assumed there were spies, traitors and opportunists. I wonder if I have ever met any of these dark persons, he asked himself.

    The Battle of Toulon proved a disaster and caused a number of disgraced officers to leave the service. Mr. Walpole died, which Prenter believed was the end of peace for the moment, but this somber event was overwhelmed by the birth of twins to Alex Dibble and his lady friend, Mary, on June 22, 1746. Prenter was not consulted during these awkward times because Mary was not Dibble’s wife; she was a maid in the Dibble household.

    When Hawke battled the French commander, L’Entendeure, heroism abounded even though eight ships were lost in a sacrifice strategy, but over two hundred French merchant ships survived and made their way toward the West Indies. Alex moved his twin boys and Mary tactfully to Portsmouth and established a temporary household under her name and management. The premise was that she was a widow.

    Shortly thereafter, he contacted a friend, an architect with the Society of Dilettanti, and had a small home built close to the Robert Hooke design produced for Sir William Jones in the 1680s. They called the estate Eldan Manor after her pretended husband’s family name; she and the twins moved in two years later.

    He met with Allard and informed him of his situation and asked Prenter to become a guardian, and eagle, to the new household. He did. On April 30, 1748, a peace agreement was signed between England and France. There was also peace in the Dibble household as well as aboard the Cressy.

 

15

 

1749 marks the marriage of Alex Dibble, now 26, to Ellen Powell.  Allard Prenter is now 58.

 

 

    Allard frowned. Alex simply raised his shoulders and tossed his hands to each side. "One must move on, my friend," Alex began. "Mary and the twins are safe, and I am acting responsibility for my indiscretion. I am a man of principle." Allard still frowned.

Mary’s salon seemed crowded with Alex, Allard and Mary sitting across from one another. "He is a man of principle in my opinion, Mr. Prenter," offered Mary in her soft voice. "If he weren’t, I would not be here, in my own new home, Eldan, with my children, and seated with their father." She laughed an infectious laugh and looked at Alex who fought a grin. "I would also not be discussing his marriage to Ellen Powell." Allard found no humor in the exchange, but he did appreciate theirs.

    "I am at a loss for words," blurted Prenter in his usual way.

    Alex recrossed his legs and studied the beautiful Mary. "I wish there was a way to marry you both."

Mary smiled again. "My dear Alex, if you act upon your instincts, both Miss Powell, then to be Dibble, and I will both be in the same situation. Of course she will be more visible in society than I, but understanding Society as I do, from the service view, I am still the more fortunate. I live a life of quiet serenity, and my boys are able to play like normal boys." She turned her attention to Allard. "And, Mr. Prenter, dare I assume you will accept my boys into the craft of ships and the like?"

    Allard smiled and nodded to the affirmative. "As usual, I am completely at your service." His eyes went to Alex. "On the other hand, this rascal, here, the boy who had the audacity to sit next to a man in reclusion and speak to him, work his dashing brother and his circle of questionable gentlemen in his heart, I am not often willing to be at his service. These children spoiled my cabin with their swearing, arguing, wrestling and other pointless pursuits, leaving me to clean up after them."

    Mary gleamed at Alex again, then looked at Allard. "Mr. Prenter, have I mentioned how much I appreciate your refusal to be this wretched man’s best man at his wedding?"

    "Profusely, madam," responded Prenter staring at Alex who flinched.

    "I felt it was my way of honoring you, you old coot, " fired Alex.

    Prenter didn’t move a muscle. "I have already been honored with your assignment of me to be the eagle at this very house. As for calling me names, I resent being called old. For that I want to duel." Allard stood and waited.

    Alex sank back in his chair and held his chest. "No, Sir. You have already struck me to the quick, and I die a corrected man. Regardless of my post in Society, I realize and state with my last breath, that you are the victor. My darling, Miss Powell will have to set about finding another man." With this, he died.

    "Dear Alex, does this mean that you have left your Society, and now, in death, come to me so I can sew up your eyelids?" Mary was enjoying herself.

    Alex came back to life. "I am going to marry the good lady of Society, to whom I have been chosen to wed, because the Dibble empire will be enriched as much as the Powells. I promise you, regardless of my times of intimacy with the dear lady, I will return to have my eyes sewn by you when the time comes."

    "Which may be all too soon, if you do not return to London," offered Prenter who moved to Mary and took her hand. "I am a simple man with simple tastes which makes me believe I am not moved by confection alone, but you, my dear, are the most infectious confection I have ever known. Had I not known this rascal to my left, and had he never sat next to me and presumed upon my unhappy life, I would have sought you out and made you my own. Of course, in order to appeal to you, I would have had to clean up a bit and reduced my age, at least, in half." He kissed her hand.

    "My dear Mr. Prenter. I would have shown you my shyness and would have withdrawn from your advances until I had chosen the moment to make you mine forever. You are truly a gentleman far exceeding those I have had the misfortune to have known, aside from this rascal you mention. In my opinion, the King should assign you Commissioner of Portsmouth Navy Yard and let you live in his great house."

    "Thank you, no, my dear. My mother worked in that very house as a maid, much like you did in the Dibble house. I prefer my home of ships." With this remark, he moved to Alex who stood before him. "Alex, you are a rogue who should have listened to me when I told you to go home and leave me alone, at least a thousand times, but, the day before your wedding, in the home of your lovely Mary, I am thankful you are not the type of man who listens to good advice. I believe Mr. Bailey Bond is a perfect best man. As you know, I have known him for years and hold him in the most highly esteem as a craftsman and gentleman. He is the only sir I call sir and mean it. How dastardly of the man of position to take on the rigors of tools, in his own hands, mind you."

    Alex hugged the man as he had done so many times before. "I find it odd holding you on a deck that is not moving." He laughed and winked at Mary. Prenter turned and executed a most elegant bow.

    "I can’t do this well on the deck of a moving ship. Perhaps, that is all for the best, for they usually do not hang men in ladies’ parlors."

 

16

The Naval Expositor describes the whipstaff and the wheel on the same page, which provides both devices acceptability as steering devices for ships.  This event alone lends the year 1750 with some distinction.  The other, is the fact that it is halfway to the year 1800.  To provide more dimension, it was thought essential to those planning voyages and establishing homes in the new world to know that there were, as of this date, 80,000 persons in Canada and 1,200,000 in the Colonies.

 

    Prenter found it interesting that Bailey Bond, formerly of Society by its own hand, had retired to Port Raymund in the north. Port Raymund, known to all who sailed in and out of her deep waters as "Quickly Bay", because their stays were always over so quickly, was also known as a marvelous place to live and, obviously, to retire in. Prenter thought of Bond’s years and thought his retirement early.

    Allard had enjoyed Bond’s continual descriptions of the Dibble wedding. Every time, the two men sat together, either aboard the Cressy, in a local pub or in the gentleman’s home, Bailey would describe, in great detail, the antics of Alex as well as his brother, Grayson, who seemed to have what Bailey called, "a female coat tail" because of the gaggle of giggling beauties who trailed after the young man.

    Bailey went on to offer beautifully fashioned mental pictures of the group of "student’s" who now held positions in government, service or the navy. Each of the original five returned for the wedding, and with Grayson, provided the event with immensely humorous aspect. Grayson not only drank a complete bowl of punch, he wore it.

    Bailey had spent his last evening in Portsmouth with Allard, and the two reminisced about all their years together. Prenter believed the evening to be one of his best, and as Bailey left the ship, he actually saluted the man. Bailey had stood and saluted back, then disappeared into the darkness.

    It had been Bailey who had been most prominent in bringing Prenter out of his seclusion and despair. His incessant pleas for company at Bingling’s, an obscure, small, uncomfortable but intimate pub, he called his own, finally broke Allard of his introspectiveness enough to let someone else in aside from his acknowledged young friends that included the Dibbles and the circle of students.

    One night, in particular, Bailey had consumed too much drink, which was not unusual for this man, and he began telling stories of intrigue and adventure. He referred to a man named Herhanden who could "ghost a ship in and out of harbors like a spirit in the night" and a man named Sir Jack who had "brought him in". He referred to others with names long forgotten, and his own involvement in situations that called for men to "form into trees" and "sit so close to the enemy that only one seat was warmed".

    Prenter had listened intently to the unusual tack his friend had taken, but soon forgot about the incident since Bailey not only did not mention it again, but seemed visibly shaken when Allard referred to it. Being a good friend and confidant, Prenter immediately pressed the event from his mind.

    The only thing about the situation that puzzled him was a question he would never ask his friend, namely, who was Sir Jack? The only person who went by this name that he and Bailey both knew was Sir Jason Dibble who called himself "Jack". Could they both be one in the same?

 

17

On April 23, 1752 Grayson Dibble, now 27, kills a man in a duel over a woman he would not remember.  For this, he runs to find a ship to leave the country.  For this, he finds Allard Prenter first.

 

    Prenter had just made himself comfortable in his bunk when someone jumped onto the deck above and began pounding on the cabin top. Allard made himself get up and make his way to the top of the companionway. "Who’s there at this time of night?" he bellowed.

    "Bates, Prenter. It’s me Bates, and I have to talk to you immediately."

    Prenter pushed open the hatch and faced the man with the pallid face. "What is it?" he asked.

    "There’s a man in the stables who saw me walking home. He called me over and asked me if I knew you, and I said yes. He gave me this, and had me get you. So here I am." Bates held out some silver coins then slipped them into his pocket. "He wants to see you bad."

    Prenter slapped the man on the shoulder and closed the hatch behind him. "Thank you, Bates. I will buy you a pint the next time we have some time." The man agreed and left the ship. Prenter made his way ashore and walked to the stables. All was dark.

    "Mr. Prenter," came a voice from the shadows. The voice was familiar but muffled. "Over here, Sir."

    Prenter moved into the shadows and tried to see. Suddenly he was facing Grayson Dibble. The moonlight made his handsome face look ghastly. "I am in much trouble, and I am going away for a long time, but I could not go without seeing you. I have enjoyed your friendship and have appreciated your association with my brother. He truly loves you, as do I."

    Prenter was taken aback by the word "love" since he had heard that word come from a male only once. It had been his father. "I don’t know what to say, Grayson. I am both gladdened and saddened that you honor me so then bid me farewell for what could be forever. What happened to you, and why do you run?"

    Grayson turned away then back again. "I have killed a man in a duel over a woman, which is stupid enough except that I didn’t even know her name nor from where she came." He began to pace in and out of the moonlight. It was if a player were appearing and disappearing on stage to a cadence set out by the director. "This man hit this woman and said some things that a gentleman should not say to a lady even if her lineage was in question. I stopped him, and we ended up dueling this evening. When the shots were silent, I saw him on the ground. His second was staring at me, then dropped to his knees and began to cry. Mr. Prenter, I have never seen such a thing. There was something entirely too diabolical and confusing about this grizzly scene."

    Prenter put his hand on the young man’s shoulders to comfort him and to stop him from pacing. Grayson closed his eyes. "There is no question that you must go, but where will you go?"

    "I am going to the Colonies on the first ship that will take me there, but I won’t tell you from which port in case someone asks you. You will be able to truthfully say that I came here, confessed my crime, thanked you for your friendship and left."

    "Do you need anything. I have money....."

    Grayson interrupted him. "I have been to Mary’s, and she has given me enough to get where I must go. She will get it back from Alex, and when I contact him, he will arrange for my situation." He gave Prenter a tight grip and disappeared into the darkness of the stables. Shortly, he heard a horse and rider leave the end door and move off toward the gate. It would be the last time he would see Grayson.

 

18

1753 comes and goes with only the trading of Cressy for a 70-foot sloop, Belle of London, to remember.  1754, on the other hand, brings to life a unique duo.

 

    Prenter celebrated his sixty-second birthday alone. He did not accept well-wishers and did not attend any tributes. It was not because he had any other engagements nor was it because he did not feel well. He just wanted to be alone. He had made a bargain to trade his Cressy for a beautiful sloop that needed little repair. The Belle of London was not an old ship, she was just lightly neglected by a young man whose family had too much money, and he had too much time, none of which had proven profitable.

    His family had disposed of the Belle and deposed their son of his position in the trade business. Cressy had been accepted in the trade and donated to a worthy cause. She would be sold to the highest bidder, and the money would go to a charity of some sort. It had become apparent that Belle would not command a tidy sum, and that a Prenter ship would.

    On December 31, 1753, at around eleven o’clock in the evening, it was different. Prenter was enjoying a fine party provided at the yard by the Commissioner. He celebrated his fortune and his good health and even danced with some of the women attending. As he moved about the dance floor waiting until the year would end, and 1754 would be born, he was unaware that, miles away, two different women were giving birth to children who would also take a voyage on the ship that he would make in the near future.

    At shortly after midnight, Lilla Swain was born; two minutes later, Leslie Sweet was born. The two would grow up in different worlds until both of their worlds collided and merge into one in which they marry on the high seas and voyage to America under the most extraordinary circumstances.

    Prenter would never meet these two people, but the last ship he would build would become theirs.

 

19

1756 brings the beginning of the Seven Years War.  Because of unfortunate circumstances, Admiral Byng is shot by his own countrymen because of his flawed decisions at Minorca which lead to the area becoming French on June 28.  They were nice enough to not have him shot at the forecastle, which would have been a disgrace, but they were not nice enough to give him a reprieve.  There is also a death of paramount proportion to Alex and Allard.

 

    Prenter sat in the salon of Mary’s house on July 28th and wept openly. He had not only lost a friend, he had lost a conversation partner and a daughter. Since he had become the eagle of Mary’s home, and protector of the twins, he had felt his life was full and rich. He could not raise his eyes to the two boys who stood before him. Each had leaned forward and were, individually, trying to console the old man, but he kept on weeping like all the sorrows of his life were pouring out, all at once. "Uncle Allard, we know she’s gone, and we know it is to a better place than this."

    Prenter reached up and pulled both nine-year-olds to him. "Oh, she was such a wonderful person, my boys. She was wonderful. I will miss her so much."

    "So will I," came a voice from above. It was Alex, who leaned down and made the grieving look like a pile of people. When his face was next to Allard’s, Alex asked, in a whisper, "Allard, will you take the boys?"

    Prenter could not move. There were too many emotions racing around in his head to think. "Of course," he answered. Alex patted his face and walked away to the other room where food was being served. The few people who had been kind enough to visit were mainly local, and none knew that the gentleman greeting them was other than a close friend.

    "Are you going to live here, Uncle Allard?" Ian asked. Lane painted an inquisitive look across his face to match his brother’s.

    "I....I really haven’t had much time to think about where we’re going to live, but we will live somewhere. Maybe we could live on Belle. Would you like that?"

    Both boys began jumping up and down. Prenter let his eyes roam the details of the townhouse in which the boys were raised. It was elegant and dripped of appropriateness and convention. Mary had created a home that would be the pride of any "widow".

Ian and Lane were pulling on their father, whom they knew as Mr. Alex. Both were elated at the prospect of living on the sloop. Alex looked beyond the dancing boys and let his appreciative eyes meet Allard’s. His gratitude and affection was all too obvious, and Prenter let his laden eyes drop to his lap. He would miss Mary so much.

    Later in the afternoon, Alex got a chance to sit with Allard and go over some details. He told the older man that he had made arrangements for the boys’ maintenance, and that he would take care of any other needs, just convey the needs to him through the normal channels. Prenter agreed.

    Alex went on to say that he could have the house if he wanted it, otherwise, he would sell it and invest for the boys and Prenter. Allard was taken aback. He never figured he would be included in anything as vast as this. He protested lightly, "Alex, I have known your generosity and responsibility so often, but to include me. I don’t think that is necessary, my friend."

    "It is necessary, Allard." Prenter was surprised that Alex had called him by his real name. It had never happened before. "You are like a father, brother, friend and confidant, all in one. You have stood my me and with me in all situations, from hiding my drunken friends from their fathers, to teaching the ways of ships, to watching out for Mary and the boys." Alex took a breath then sighed.

    "As you know, the boys are not quick and mentally agile. They are slow and methodical. They are wonderful and fun, enjoy their lives and each other, but they will never be effective on their own, and I must make arrangements that protect them from the unfeeling and vultures of the world. They are yours as much as they have ever been mine, and now our paths part, in a manner. I must let the boys go with you because you can teach them trades and make the productive men so they can make their own ways. What can I teach them about Society and business?"

    Allard leaned forward. "Are you going to tell them their relationship to you?"

    Alex thought for a moment. "I think it would be better if they did not know, at least for now. I would be proud to have them, but it would do none of us any good. Society is all too cruel and unforgiving, even though children in similar circumstances have been accepted before. I just believe that these boys are not equipped for a challenge of that type. They are both gentlemen by nature, not upbringing and training. They have all the humor and wit of Mary, and the ease of nature of their father, but they must have your ability to make something with their hands, things that they can offer to the buyers of hand-made things."

    "I can only teach them the ways of ships, Alex. I really do not know anything else."

    "What you can offer them, no one else through all of England can teach them. You are the acknowledged master of ships. Given the proper circumstances, you could have been Phineas Pett himself."

    "A great compliment, my friend, but remember, I am not a father, nor have I ever been. With the present arrangement, they have you," Prenter added.

    "It is true that seeing them in the future will be awkward, at least, but I will see them. I have position and wealth, and with these qualities I will be able to practice a bit of puppetry. A string here, and a string there, one at a time, two in a row, until the scene is played out."

    "You and I have been linked in some manner since the beginning of time. I believe we were brought together for some purpose, and I imagine that this is it." Prenter stood and moved about to relax his muscles and stretch. "I shall be a father to your boys, and a mother in Mary’s name. I will do this for the five of us as a group."

    Alex stood and embraced his friend. "Had I known who you were a year earlier, I would have sought you out a year earlier. Thank God my grandfather told me to find you."

    Prenter thought for a moment. "That’s true, Alex, he did didn’t he. How did he come to know about me?"

"My friend. While you were in your sorrow, the world of ships came to know you, and my family’s association with the Navy Board and the Admiralty brought much knowledge into it. Believe me, you were known and are still known to many you do not know, and I might add, you might not want to know."

    "Perhaps. Yes, that’s probably how it was."

    Alex went over to a nearby table and took down two leather bags that looked recently purchased. He threw them onto the table between the two men and sat. Allard joined him. "I have here some important items that the boys must have and must not lose. These come directly from my family and from me. I have the fortune to have a family that still holds me in regard after my indiscretions."

    Alex pulled out some smaller leather sacks from one of the leather bags. "I will show you this one. The other is exactly the same, so there is no point opening both." He opened one and dumped out a number of gold and silver pieces. "This is for them to have if they need it. I would prefer that you give it out sparingly, because I don’t know when I will be able to replenish them quickly. Again, use the normal method for getting my attention." He put the small fortune away in the small sack.

Next, he pulled out a long sack that, like the others, had a tie on top. He opened it and took out a long, gnarled piece of wood that resembled a part of a branch. "This is an unusual bit of wood, as I will show you."

    Prenter froze, and his face went ashen. He stared at the small branch that was almost identical to the one his mother had held at his birth and that he presently had in a bag on the Belle of London. Alex looked up and studied the man.

    "Are you alright, Allard?"

    Prenter brought himself to his senses and smiled weakly. "Yes, the situation of the last two days had settled on me in one heavy press."

    Alex went back to his task. "You see, this looks like a normal branch, but if you look closely, it is not." He carefully twisted the branch from either end, and the pieces parted, to reveal a number of rolled papers. "These papers explain everything and give Ian, and Lane the proofs they need to claim their rightful places and fortunes when they are old enough to understand them."

    Prenter reached forward and took the two parts of the branch and put them together. They formed a small branch. He twisted them apart and marveled at the two pieces. He did not withdraw the papers. With a twist, he put them together and pushed the branch into the leather sack and drew the cord. "How did you come to this design? It is very clever."

    Alex seemed to study the room and looked around him. "My grandfather is in the service of the King in a manner that calls for him to invent this type of device to transport important documents that, if they fell into the wrong hands, could compromise all of England. He devised this to mask the papers. The branch could be thrown down amid others and disappear. Only the discerning would know what they would be looking for later."

    "These devices must be for only the few."

    "Only someone close to my grandfather would ever come by one of these, particularly with papers in it."

Allard was swallowing in the manner of a man on the verge of an attack of anxiety, and Alex saw it. He reached forward and pulled Allard to him. "Are you alright?"

    Prenter nodded. "I need some air. What else is in the bag?"

    Alex smiled. "I showed you the most important. The rest is incidental and only of importance to the twins at the present age. I have placed likenesses of their mother and much of her personal things the boy’s loved in."

    Prenter allowed Alex to take his arm and escort him to the front of the townhouse where the two looked out over the goings on below them. Each man was lost in thought. Alex was contemplating his situation, and Allard was contemplating the wooden device that lay in a bag in a locker on the Belle. He closed his eyes.

 

20

Sir Jack Hibble appears twice in 1758, once to appoint a new commander for clandestine operations and the other at his funeral.  A boy of 16, named Ezra Pudding, is hired at Portsmouth, because his father has a large carpentry business and his uncle is a man of influence.  He likes the twins, and they like him.

 

    Portsmouth was busy on the day the boy of dust walked in. He was led to an office where an equally dusty man met him. "Yer job, if you want it, is to work with wood under the direction of a shipwright. Is that alright with ye?"

    The boy grinned a large grin and said yes.

    "Yer pay has been secured by the office, and the terms are acceptable to ye?" the dusty man continued.

    "Yes, Sir," answered the boy.

    "Yer lodging will be wherever the shipwright says it will be. Is that acceptable to ye?" The dusty man blew on a book and turned open the pages. "Sign here, and ye will be legal, boy." The book was turned and faced the lad who avidly signed.

    "Go that way until you reach the water, then make yer way up to the slips and ask for Mr. John Landon. He’ll be doin’ somethin’ right with a triple decker."

    Ezra Pudding reached out a large hand. The smaller, older and much dustier man took his hand and gave it a surprisingly strong grip. "Glad to have ye with us, lad. Be a good worker, and the Commissioner will give ye a big kiss." Ezra’s smile wilted at the thought of being kissed by the Commissioner. The old man began a dusty chuckle which rumbled from deep within and resulted in a coughing, sputtering guffaw. Ezra joined in. With a salute, Ezra left the office and headed off toward the water.

Only a short distance away, in the Commissioner’s house, Sir Jack Dibble sat in a large leather chair. The Commissioner sat behind his desk. Before the desk stood a tall man of the sea. Dibble studied the man and pictured him on the quarterdeck of a ship. It seemed to fit.

    The Commissioner turned to Dibble and spoke. "Sir Jack, Captain Herhanden, recently of Minorca." The captain moved to the seated man, who looked in his eighties, and bowed. As he did so, he noticed the Commissioner excuse himself and leave the room.

    "Sir, it is an honor to meet you even though I have no idea who you are," Herhanden offered. The captain was amused by the comment; the old man sat unmoved.

    "I am who I am, because no one knows who I am, and if I had an inclination to say who I was, it would not be to you, Sir." The icy response made the captain sober, and he stood tall and rigid.

    "Excuse me, Sir. I should not have added humor to where humor does not belong."

    "Accepted, Captain Herhanden." The old man pointed to some candy on the table and waved an impatient hand. "Can you bring me a few of the things I should not have, Sir," the old man wheezed.

    Herhanden reached out, grabbed some marzipan and handed them to Dibble, who did not extend a hand to the man.

    "One-by-one, my boy, one-by-one. One does not want to appear too eager, now, would we?" The old man seemed to glow when in control.

    "Of course not, Sir," amended the captain putting the bulk of the candy in his left hand and handing one to Dibble. The old man took one and frowned.
    "You realize that your left glove will get soiled waiting for me to require another?"

    "You are worth the cost, Sir," snapped back Herhanden efficiently.

    "How do you know?" bellowed Dibble.

    "Because you have the use of the Commissioner’s personal office." The captain let the situation sit for a moment.

    "You hold the Commissioner in high regard, I assume?" rattled the old man.

    "Sincerely, Sir, since he fixes and builds the ships we sail in."

    "That he does, Captain." Dibble fussed for another candy. He stuffed it into his mouth and stared at the tall man. "How are things in Minorca?"

    "French,"stated Herhanden flatly.

    "You passed as a French officer?"

    "I did."

    "Are we going to get Minorca back?"

    "I don’t know, Sir."

    "Why don’t you know?"

    "Because I was sent for by you, and I did not stay on Minorca."

    "How did you know it was I?" Dibble had another candy.

    "I didn't. I just guessed," blurted the captain shamed that he was forced to say it.

    "Don’t guess. Be sure," chastised Dibble.

    "Yes, Sir," the captain answered.

    "You have more to say, but you think it incorrect to say?" Dibble inquired.

    "I have more to say if I am saying it to the right person."

    "And who might that be, Captain?" Dibble seemed amused now.

    "The person who decides what I am to do and when I am to do it. The person who assumes that when I am told what to do and when to do it that I will do it the way I have always done it so it will be done, Sir." The captain stood his ground.

    Dibble seemed to soften and even let a small smile cross his lips. "That, Sir, would be me," he admitted at last. Herhanden was still stiff as a cane and still had a handful of candy. "Sit down, Captain, I have something I would like you to do."

    Herhanden brought a chair around to where Sir Jack sat and placed it a respectable distance away.

    "Bring the chair closer, Sir."

    The captain moved the chair three consecutive times politely until his nose was almost in Dibble’s face. The old man cleared his throat, and Herhanden felt like swallowing.

    "I am in need of a special branch of service, one that is sea borne by mission and is not confused by troops and other land-borne influences. I tire of generals, but I can, on rare occasions, tolerate Admirals. They seem to be made of different stuff. Perhaps it’s the salt air, the tar and the hemp, unsmoked that is," Dibble’s little joke made him laugh. The Captain sat still, bolt upright.

    "You have had your own ships, have you not?"

    "Yes, Sir, but not a ship of the line."

    "You don’t have to have a ship of the line to be a captain, Sir; you only have to be in command of a sixth-rater or higher. Am I correct?"

    "Yes, Sir, you are correct." Herhanden was mildly impressed.

    "And you have commanded ship this size and higher?"

    "Yes, Sir, a number of East Indiaman." Herhanden did not like calling these ships East Indiaman because it implied they were Dutch. He didn’t like the idea that the British were sailing in frigates that were not the old frigates, but a new design of frigate penciled from the French even though he liked the ships themselves.

    "Would you like to have a ship again?"

    "I certainly would, Sir, but what would that do to my commitment to your service?"

Dibble leaned forward to where Herhanden could not pull his nose any further back. "I am thinking we need a ship designed for what we do in the service and stop using ships designed for other service if you know what I mean," he mumbled. He was not willing to admit that he was sounding the opinion of the captain, and the captain was not going to reveal that he suspected the man of this tact.

    "It would take much of the unpredictability out of each situation, and it would be nice to have a crew who knew what we were doing.....to a point, Sir,.......so we wouldn’t have to have a charade with those on the quarterdeck." Herhanden did not like to use French words even though he was fluent in all the languages of England’s conventional enemies, such as, the Dutch, the French, the Spanish. He could even pass as a number of colonial types and had been quite effective in Canada within the last year.

    "Those to whom I report have commissioned me to commission an officer of my choosing to find a man of his choosing to build a ship here at Portsmouth." Dibble leaned back; Herhanden felt like he could breath again. "What do you think?"

    "Well, Sir. I think Portsmouth is fine, but I don’t know any shipwrights...."

    Dibble interrupted the captain. "Use Mr. Allard Prenter. He is an acknowledged shipwright, among other things. He will know how to build a ship out of old ships, parts of ships, parts from here, parts from there and a minimum of ordering through channels. My superiors would like to have a ship in the service that does not appear on any blotter or register, nor report, by name. We need resourcefulness and cooperation to build a ship that never was. Am I clear, Captain?"

    Herhanden thought about the mission, then smiled. "I am to command this ship, Sir?" Dibble smiled a wide smile.

    "No, Dear Boy, I want you to command the naval forces of my service. I want you to find and train captains to do what you do when I ask you to do what it is I am asked to do, to put this situation in your own words. Why would we waste you in one port for one assignment when we can have many of you in many ports?"

    Herhanden could see Dibble’s point, but he was outwardly disappointed, and Dibble could tell. Suddenly, the old man leaned forward this time, but he put his hands on the Captain’s. Herhanden did not move. "Sir, I have chosen you because you are who you are, even with your occasional flings at naughtiness and wit. For those transgressions, we forgive you. For your abilities, we implore you."

    Herhanden nodded. "Sir. If that is what you want me to do, then I will do it."

    Dibble seemed grateful, and Herhanden could tell it. This feeling did not explain why he felt a certain closeness to the man who had sent him into so many clandestine situations.

    "We thank you, Captain. You may go. Please remain at the Yard. The Commissioner has made arrangements for your stay, and has arranged for you to find Prenter, since he is never where you expect him to be. You see, he is Portsmouth Yard and has been for many years. He is a close friend of my sons Alex and Grayson, even though I have never met him personally, I have watched his service over the years and would have him as part of my family if it were for me to give."

    Captain Herhanden left the room and went outside for some air. It was almost dinner time, and he felt the pangs of hunger. His eyes went about him, and he could see and smell the makings of ships. A young man walked by him, smiled a large smile and tipped his hat. Herhandend flicked his brim and smiled back.

    Somehow he felt there was more to his sudden rise to his new position than met the eye. Maybe he would find out; maybe he wouldn’t, but it would be nice to know. He wouldn’t find out from Sir Jack because he passed away of natural causes on May 27, 1756.

 

21

 

Mr. Allard Prenter, at 68, is asked to build a ship.

 

    The Commissioner finished a verbal complaint to those gathered in the room. He waited for some comments from his staff of shipwrights from the Master on down, sighed and let his eyes go around the room to each of his subordinates. In the far corner, tucked away, out of sight and out of mind, sat Mr. Allard Prenter, all of seventy years and a master in each of the trades required to build ships. The only thing that man did not know how to do, thought the Master, was be social.

    He was a reclusive, stoic, man of wood and sail who lived in a world of his own, he thought, and now he was tasked to have this man build a ship in his Yard. This was bad enough, knowing this would distress other members of his staff, but the ship could no appear on any records. The Commissioner felt like a thief in his own store. Every time he thought about saying something that day Sir Jack informed him of his part, he decided not to. This proper decision ensured his position as Commissioner, but did not make his mind rest.

    Prenter had been born in Portsmouth, in 1680-something, had been weaned on bilge water and had worked every discipline in the yard; he had even helped design and build a number of the structures in which he and others worked. Prenter had served in positions from honing keels in the saw pits to measuring in the mast houses to creating fir templates in the moulding lofts. At present, he was performing joiner work on a three-decker. If anyone could put something together out of nothing, it would be Prenter. The man even had permission from his predecessors to keep his personal yacht in the boat pond. He even had storage space for his personal belongings in the smithery.

    The next morning, the Master Shipwright came aboard the three-decker and made his way across the the expanse to the main hatchway. Dropping down two decks, the man shuffled to the starboard side forward, past the carpenter’s cabin to the carpentry shop. At the narrow doorway, he looked in to see Prenter working on some detached cabinetry. He asked Prenter for his attention and got it.

    The old man retained his tools and posture, squinted at the younger man and waited. The Master unfolded a plan that made Prenter’s eyebrows rise. In all the years the Master had known Prenter, even when he had learned under his informal, on-the-job tutoring, he had never seen such an outward manifestation of emotion. Without a word, the old man nodded to the affirmative and waited for more information. None came, but a smile of respect crossed the Master’s face. Prenter nodded again and went back to work.

    The plan was simple. All Prenter had to do was construct a ship to specifications that would be provided, out of left-over materials, from an assortment of hulks and do it as soon as possible. He would be relieved of any other responsibilities, could pick his own full-time crew and support personnel and would be given a minimal budget from which to draw. As a place to work and launch, a spot would be picked somewhere at the end of the existing slips where he could manufacture a temporary way.

 

 

22

 

May 29, 1758, Allard Prenter Builds His Ship.

 

 

    It was a dreary day, but Prenter felt more alive than he had for years. He was done mourning the death of Sir Jack and had appeared at the funeral for the sake of Alex. Grayson’s absence seemed so obvious, and no one knew where he had gone or if were dead or alive.

    He sat on the water side of the broom house and stared at the site. He felt that if he were going to build a slip, it would be of wood and would be as temporary as he could. These were his orders. Since he had no way of calling a meeting of any sort because he had no authority to do so, he had been given permission to go from building-to-building to recruit those he felt were best for the project. It would not be difficult to find the best, since he knew who the best were, but it would be difficult in selecting to keep from hurting someone’s feelings. He was proud to say that almost everyone wanted to work with him, but until recently, he had refused. He was much happier working by himself on different ships.

    He took a piece of paper from his pocket and began sketching out names and jobs when the twins appeared around the corner. Right behind them was the tall and strong, Ezra Pudding. All three came closer and crouched down.

    "We going to build a ship by ourselves, Uncle? That’s what we heard. Can we do it?" asked Ian looking at Lane and Ezra. "I think we can. All we need is some wood, some tools, a few good men, Lane, me and Ezra, Bob and Scanny. Joe Booth and Edwin, Pops and McKay. We can tear up a few of those hulks and get some good joinery." Ian seemed as pleased as a young man could be. So was Allard.

    "My boys, we’re going to build a ship, an English ship, not a French ship that smells British, but a British ship that smells British. She will be the only one of its kind, because it must do things that a normal ship does not do, and that, my boys, is live. Most ships don’t live; they exist, and you know why they exist? They exist because their crews don’t know they live, and they don’t talk to them, ask them for their opinions. They just point them into battle and celebrate the ones that survive. Most just die, smoldering hulks with a hold full of dead men and quarterdecks strewn with officers.

    "Some come back here and go into ordinary and wait for up to years for new bottoms or bulwarks. Some go back to sea saddened by their situations knowing that a time would come when it would be easier to burn to the waterline or just sink quietly into the sea to rest into Eternity. We want a ship that lives, and as with a human child, a life begins from the first moment it is conceived. So shall this ship, I call the Phoenix, because, with the budget we have and the materials we have, she will have to rise from the ashes, not from a ship before it, but from all ships before it."

    A round of applause came from the east side of the building where some twenty men stood. A small man stood in front of the them. It was Clever Manning, a master carver. "Mr. Prenter," he began in a halting way. He was not known for giving speeches. "We thought you might have some difficulty in choosing some help, so we drew straws amongst ourselves to see which of would have the honor of working with you. Behind me stand the men who won, but I lost, much to my disappointment. You see, I was forced by these ugly men to give the speech." The men laughed as did the twins and Ezra.

    Prenter was greatly moved. "You heard what I said, I assume?" Clever nodded to the affirmative. "And a great living ship she will be. You say she will be called Feenicks?"

    "A fine name, don’t you think?" asked Prenter.

    "A fine name it is," answered Clever. With your permission, I will ask these men to choose their assistants." He waited.

    Prenter put his hands down at his sides and stared at the men. He put his hands on the twins and looked at Ezra, then at Manning. "It would be my honor to have you men and your men, in turn, to help me build Phoenix." He got a cheer from the men who came up to congratulate Prenter. In the midst of the celebration, Prenter watched Manning walk away. "Mr. Manning, Sir, would you be so kind as to come here, please." The slight man turned and returned. "Would you be so kind as to cut me a board with the name of the ship in your own hand? Would you please, sir?" Manning stared at the man and shook his hand.

    "I would be delighted, Sir. Feenicks, it is. I will make it small and tidy since our ship is to have no name. Odd, isn’t it Mr. Prenter, but the word is there is a ship that is no ship that will be built at the end of the yard where there is no slip, but who are we to question? I think I will ask Trainer, the gilder, to spice up the board."

    "Correct, and thank you, Mr. Manning."

    Manning jubilantly went off humming some tune, back to his chisels and normal tasks, but tonight, he would stay up until the morning carving a board that would be nailed somewhere on the ship where it would not be seen. Only those who built her would know her real name and from whence she came.

 

23

Bailey Bond dies in Quickly Bay of unusual circumstances on September 5, 1759.  The King of Spain dies, and Charles III takes his place; the French fleet loses to Hawke in Quiberon Bay; Montreal falls and George II dies.  Allard Prenter dies at 70.

 

    The gathering at the chapel in Portsmouth rivaled that for a royal personage, but in this instance, the congregation was collected to mourn the death of a very common man, Allard Prenter, a builder of ships and men. Prenter, in true form, died within the bowels of a ship, but this was no common ship. As he lay dying in the arms of the twins, he seem to send his soul into the wood of the deck rather than release it flying toward the Heavens.

    He looked at the boys, who were crying openly, and smiled. "I will always be with you in this ship," he mumbled. "Stay with her, and I will be able to guide you. Just speak to the wood, the sails and the rigging. Rest with your backs against my ribs, and lean on my masts. You are good boys, my friends." He pulled Ian down and whispered something into his ear. The lad nodded and looked at Lane. Somehow, Lane knew what was said.

    Holding his hands, the two watched Prenter pass into the next land. They refused to leave him, and said that Prenter had asked them to hold his hands so he could maintain the link between the two worlds. They did not leave the deck until the early hours of the next day. Prenter was moved to the chapel a bit later.

    The service was simple, and everyone wanted to say something, but no one did. The pastor just stood at the casket, and remained silent. He bowed away and sat down, moved beyond words. For some reason, this seemed so appropriate, since Prenter was a man of few words. There would be no way for any one person to speak for so remarkable a man. As each mourner passed the casket, each man and woman said a small piece of what would have been a fitting eulogy.

    On the second day, when the chapel was empty, a number of men entered quietly, one by one, and spent time with their friend. These men were the men of influence, and the uniforms and capes reflected their positions in the government, royal family, and Prenter's private navy. Shortly thereafter, Prenter was laid to rest, and the Portsmouth ropery burned down. Feenicks was launched without any ceremony except for her informal Christening and tearful group of men, including a tall, gaunt man who looked like a captain by the way he stood. Among them, shuffled a heartsick Ezra Pudding and the twins.

    On October 15, the Belle of London is bought by Sir Alex Dibble and offered quietly for auction. She sells well, and the money is placed in trust for the twins. Sir Alex, through various channels, arranges for the twins to remain with Feenicks, the ship that does not exist.

 

---

 

PART TWO

 

Quickly Bay, the Haven for the Lost and Lonely, comes of age.

 

1

On December 25, 1741, Christmas day at around two o’clock in the morning, a baby girl is born in Newcastle to a prosperous local merchant and his wife.  She is named Margaret for her grandmother and Burger for her father’s family. Margaret Burger will sail upon the last ship built by Allard Prenter, and at that time, she will be grieving deeply for the second monumental loss in her life, her home.  Her first loss will have been her husband who, by all accounts, had been lost at sea, but it was now the moment of her birth, a jubilant time in her life, and she was devoid of concerns apart from breathing her first breath.

 

    Margaret Elaine Burger Pudding was born in an area of inlets, one of which lay between Falmouth and Lizard Point on the southeast side of Cornwall. Helford River contained a blend of anchorage, strong tidal movements and exposure to wind and weather. She loved to come from her home, some miles from the coast, and sit watching the waters and the sunrises.

Her older brothers, who rode miles and miles to the various coasts, would strap her onto one of their steeds and take her to see places like Land’s End, Scilly Isle, known for its flowers, Penzance, Mounts Bay and Lundy Island.

    She learned to admire the western gorse, nestled within the bell heather, and admired their colorful combination of purple and yellow. She studied the landscape with its granite thrusting through old red sandstone and stood at the Pen Oliver at Lizard Point, the headland from which the Spanish Armada was first detected in 1588. Her brothers would hide within the serpentine rock outcrops until she would begin to worry that they had left her. They would soothe her mood with a chunk of the rock.

    Delford, the oldest, explained that serpentine rock was made by the Devil, and he would distort his face and tell her that the Devil had made serpentine through his control of heat and pressure. Delford would then scrape the chunk until it was small enough for her to use as an ornament for her room. She still had one of the reddish green rocks as a remembrance.

    The Phoenicians had frequented this area for its tin and liked its proximity to Gibraltar. Nearby Trewavas Head contained the Wheal Trewavas tin mine that had begun production in 1750. She and her brothers would sit at the base the engine houses on the cliffs. They visited Boscastle, a small town controlled by Sir Richard Grenville, the captain of the Revenge, in Elizabethan times. It was a supply and trading town for slate, lime and coal. It was very difficult to get in and out, and, more times than not, required the towing of ships to the jetty. Often the water ran out, and they could run along the bottom pretending they were fish.

    Fowey, on the southern coast, was a great export port and a beautiful city. It was here that china clay from nearby St. Austell was exported. Trinni, her next older brother, would fashion things that were unmentionable from what he could find in clay.

They would sit on the rocks and watch the knots, migrates from the Arctic, wade by the thousands on the winter waters. They would study the geese, ducks, swans, snow buntings, fieldfares and redwings. In the milder days, they would move about naming the warblers, flycatchers, wheatears, swallows and ring ouzels. They even bestowed peerage on selected starlings, chaffinchs, blackbirds, robins, sparrows, thrushes and meadow pipits. The court was crowded with gulls and fulmar; the House of Lords sported gannets, shags and eiders; only the Commons contained groups of great skua.

    When an occasional ship passed, they would watch the gannets dive on it to get whatever they could that was cast from the decks. They crawled around the rock ledges to study the guillemots who lived and placed their eggs on rock ledges. In winter, they were gone to sea, but they always came back.

    All the Burgers had the wanderlust, and their father, a retired captain of East Indiamen, would frequent London and the dockyards. They would toss a marked flat rock to decide whether they would take the north coach road path home from London which took them through Basingstoke, Andover, Wells, Barnstaple, Launceston on to Penzance or the south coach road through Basingstoke, Andover, Exeter ending in Plymouth. Once in Plymouth, the family of riders would take the back roads to the Helford through Falmouth to the northern banks to visit the Palmosts.

    To get to the south coast and home, they would ride from Plymouth to St. Austell, through Truro to Helston then, if they chose, east along the south side to the sea. Most of the time, Helston was avoided to keep from visiting their Aunt Evelyn. They would sneak through the familiar terrain, cross country to end up some miles east of Helston at their home, Southward. If the north route had been chosen, the group would split into three riders each and race each other south. At Southward, their mother would reward the winners with pasties and tea.

    The older "gentlemen" would sometimes pass on the tea, preferring to tipple on fermented alternatives. This would ordinarily enhance storytelling and raise exaggeration to new heights. Those still drinking tea would interpret these stories into versions more acceptable, but considerably less entertaining, for their mother. Lenore Burger would frown at her older sons and husband, then secretly wink at her daughter and younger sons. Trevor Burger would suck on his pipe and lord over all the activities. They were a happy family and thanks to Burger’s shrewd investment in the Company, quite well off.

 

2

 

In June, Margaret Burger meets Ezra Pudding under unusual circumstances.   The Seven Years War continues.

 

 

    Once Margaret grew old enough to ride her own horse, she began wandering off by herself, and no matter how her father roared, or her brothers threatened, she continued to range farther from home and into areas that she should avoid. She did not like being homebound, and would dress like a man, strap on her weapons, sneak from her house and ride throughout the night so she could arrive in Quickly Bay, on the Helford, and watch the sun rise.

    On one particular day, when she met the young Ezra Pudding, she was sixteen; he was eighteen. Shortly before they met, he had been given a bluff of land and a large broken-down wharf with some sinking fishing boats from his Uncle. Uncle Max was a man who had the foresight to see that the lure of the sea had caught the young lad, and that his current position as a carpenter under his father would never do.

    The night before her arrival on the day she met Ezra, Margaret was riding like the wind when two highwaymen forced her to stop in a darkened glen. They pointed pistols and asked her to throw over her purse. In a low, muffled voice, she laughed and said that her purse was too heavy to throw, and that they should draw closer, and she would hand it over. One moved in, and the other remained still....the weapon pointed at her head. With a lightening move, she punched the nearer with all her might, ducked the bullet that flew over her head, threw her horse into the other rider, and as he fell to the ground, she rode off into the night.

    As she sat at the edge of the water nursing her left knee, hurt in the collision with the far rider, she sensed a presence and whirled about. There, above her was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He had a black beard, a round face and a huge smile. He put out his hand and asked her to stand. She let herself be lifted by the huge young man. Once upright, she realized how commanding he really was. He asked how she had hurt herself, and she told him. He laughed and picked her up. Without a huff, he strode off with her in his arms. On the way past her horse, he grabbed the reigns and moved off down the coast. At the ruins of the wharf, he put her down on a piling and waved at the bluff to his left.

    He explained that he was going to build a splendid house on the crest of the bluff, fix the wharf with its small building, repair the boats, fish into a small fortune, buy a beauty of a ship, name it after his wife and have six children. He turned and asked her what he should name the boat. She was taken aback and asked him how she should know. He asked her if she was married or had a beau. She said she had neither. He asked her what her name was, and she told him. He laughed his hearty laugh and said that Margaret would be a fine name for his ship. She just sat there.

    One month later, they were married at Southward and spent their first night in a huge bed he had made in the shed on the wharf. It took Margaret’s father the rest of the year to recover from the idea that his daughter had married, that he had approved, and that he had drunk as much as he had to console himself. Two of his sons had joined him, and his wife had to have the three dragged to their beds. She just went to her window and smiled toward Quickly Bay.

    As the newlyweds lay in the moonlight shining through part of the roof, they could see the top of the bluff in the distance. Together, they planned how their new house should look. It took two years to build the business and two more to build the house. The only part of the dream that had not come true was the reality of six children. She had one miscarriage that took away her ability to have children. Ezra stood that night alone at the end of the wharf. In the morning, when he came to her bed to nurse her back to health, he had his usual large smile. Children were never mentioned again.

    She loved it when he went to sea because he would return and make up for all those lost nights. She often thought of his leaving as a form of foreplay. Unfortunately, this phase of their lovemaking often lasted months, but she would move gaily about the tiny town of Quickly Bay with a slight heaviness to her eyelids and a puckered smile on her lips. She would sigh now and then as they moved in love so many miles apart. But, as all good stories go, one day he sailed out never to return.

 

3

On the 4th of January, 1762, Spain joins France against England, who, in turn, declares war on Spain.  On September 4th, the Pudding home is complete.

 

    Pudding’s was a beautiful Georgian home built above the wharfs on a wide, loafy bluff. She stood majestic in symmetrical grandeur, two black-shuttered windows on each floor on each side of the central gable. Four two-story white pilasters, lightly crowned, enhanced her height and verticality. Her central gable, rimmed with dentils, was capped with a half-moon window. The monstrous, finely finished, sculptured door made from the same wood as the Margaret’s hull stood proudly at the top of the steps. A plain, but refined entablature defined the upper area of the doorway.

    One pedimented dormer sat ensconced in the large, expansive roof, on either side of the gable. The flat portion of the roof was surrounded by a brilliant white balustrade that provide a satisfying balance between the two soaring chimneys. A three-tiered set of wide steps welcomed all who came and moved through the formal white fencing at the first level of a wide patio on which comfortable white wooden furniture sat to accommodate those who wished to remain outside and view the bay.

    A cupula stood in the middle of roof so Margaret could stand vigil over the journey of her husband. A single white chair with an attached table sat facing the mouth of the bay. No one ever sat nor stood at the top of the house. This was Margaret’s place alone.

Once entering, one found himself surrounded by a wealth of wood and plaster detailing from the floor boards, up the walls and around the ceilings. Majestic double doors on each side marked the entrances to a sitting room to the right and a buffet of fresh fruit to the left. Forward was the kitchen and the business portions of the house. A soaring deeply varnished stairway vaulted up the right side of the hallway to a railed landing on which a single, equally varnished, high-backed seat stood. This was Mrs. Linden’s place where cordial exchanges of business took places before and after upstairs visitors and hostesses enjoyed each other’s company.

    There was one expansive bedroom in each corner of the house and six smaller in the upper level of the rear wing. Down a small set of steps to the first level of the wing were six more. The front four included two for distinguished guests.

 

4

In 1763, France loses Canada, Nova Scotia and the southern colonies.  Minorca returns to English control, and Spain loses Florida.  In July of 1764, Ezra Pudding sails out of Quickly Bay for the last time, and in what appears to be a totally unrelated incident, then Captain Herhanden becomes Admiral Herhanden, head of the Secret Service of England in 1765.

 

    The Admiral was an old ship person with impressive lineage. His prowess on the sea had nothing to do with his appointment though. The Admiralty, at the time, did not consider his sea-going experience anything more than documented credibility if anyone had the spice to ask. At first, this wizened, tall, lanky man stood with his legs apart and his arms linked behind his back. His eyes were focused forward on the decks and lower rigging as they should even though he was standing just inside the doorway of one of the palace rooms. He felt confidently postured; those eyeing him from the distance were amused that this former ship’s officer was preparing himself for a potential shift in the floor of the palace. It never came; the Admiral stood his stance.

    As time moved on, he became less quarterdeck postured and more demure in his stances. His favorite new one was the hand on the chin with his elbow supported by the opposite arm. This effeminate pose amused him immensely; those eyeing from the distance considered his stance more than appropriate. As his approach to those around him became more insistent, the more effeminate he became, and the more accepted he became. At one point, he performed a light jig at the head of the table, turned with great affectation and ended his spin with a hand on the table and the other contrapasto.

    He waited for a response and found none; all looked blankly at him like he had forgotten to speak. He shrugged inside, laughed a little puffy laugh and began to talk about the impressive model on the table before him. It was at that moment that he realized he was lost in a mass of confectionary chess moves and would never make a decent decision again. The Admiralty was immensely pleased that the good man had finally come to his senses.

 

5

In July of 1769, Margaret quietly commemorates the fifth anniversary of her husband's last voyage.  In August, she opens Pudding's Shelter in order to pay bills and to continue to live a dignified life. Exactly one year later, Admiral Herhanden, falls madly in love with Margaret during an imposed mission to find a "port of discretion" in the southwest.

 

    The one-sided relationship between the Admiral and his friend in Quickly Bay had begun four months earlier when the senior officer was reviewing ports in late Summer. Aside from tolerating the intolerable workings of the Admiralty under the Earl of Sandwich, he had given up on talking about real Navies and adopted the political policies and procedures expected of the office. He had arranged for a review of ports and was well on his way when he entered Quickly Bay a place so close to the Scottish border, he wondered if he should change into a kilt.

    His entourage had stopped at the main wharf in town when he spied a lovely lady moving about the stands purchasing fish and other domestic items. He was struck by her immediately and ordered his steps. He left the carriage and moved through the crowd that politely cleared away as he shuffled toward the lady. At a particularly smelly stand, he cleared his throat and took off his hat. The lady turned and smiled. Her expression was one of light surprise. After an introduction or two, the Admiral had her burdens lifted from her by some junior officers, and he escorted her to his carriage. He took her home to the top of the bluff.

    He found out that she was a widow of a captain who, after being lost at sea, left her nothing but the large commanding home she lived in. In addition, she owned a commercial wharf and had converted her home into a lodging for woman. He listened politely as he studied her ample attributes. He couldn’t help being completely overwhelmed with this woman. After he had escorted her to the door and had returned to his carriage, he informed his officers to arrange for lodging in the town. He stayed for the next four months.

    The Admiral had been completely blinded by the lovely lady and frequented her home as much as he could. When he found out that she marketed her borders’ abilities to serve others as domestics and sold their custom-made clothing and bedding, he bought much of it and had it sent to his home. When he found out through his channels that the good lady was in considerable debt since the home did not bring in enough to cover her expenses, he began to suggest other arrangements that would be more profitable for her. They all involved him personally. To show he was also sensible and not just emotional, he suggested a number of businesses she might consider She refused them all with a blink, a hand on the arm, and a demure thank you.

 

6

On Christmas Day, 1770, the Admiral proposes the "unmentionable" to Margaret, namely, to establish Pudding's as a senior officer retreat for pleasure and entertainment.  His "concern" is for her financial future, of course.

 

    On her 28th birthday, December 25th, 1770, the Admiral, who had no one to spend Christmas or a birthday with, sat by the fire in the large parlor of Pudding’s. He was totally taken again by the beautiful and distinguished women who sat across from him. He thought of the many offers he had made for her hand and all the other overtures he had tried to get her to join him in her large unoccupied bed upstairs, but nothing had worked.

    He motioned for his lieutenant to bring over the large box he had brought. The lad put the box before her and backed away as she opened it. Inside was a beautiful full-length fur coat from Russia. She was genuinely impressed, more than she had with all previous presents he had brought. A bit later, he opened the present from her and found a number of magnificent sweaters that had obviously been made by her women. He was duly appreciative, but was sorely disappointed down deep inside. He wanted something more intimate and personal.

    He thought about her situation, debt, kindness and beauty, and his, wealth, influence and power. He eyed the lovely ladies seated about in the Christmas room with its food and decorations. He thought of his position in the Admiralty and her location in a convenient deep-water harbor. As his eyes moved about approvingly, Margaret studied the old officer. Her eyes moved about the room in an effort to discover his thoughts. Just then, a particular beauty, bent over a pile of presents and revealed her huge bosom. His eyebrows went up, then down, then his eyes went to Margaret’s. He smiled a little awkward smile. Her eyes got larger and larger as she contemplated the unthinkable.

    Margaret excused herself from his presence and the others and went out onto the porch into the cold air. It was moments later that the Admiral clicked and clunked out next to her. He lit a pipe and looked out over the bay. She said she couldn’t. He said she could under the right circumstances. She said she could afford no more debt and was not looking for a partner; he was still at sea. When she mentioned Ezra, he always felt like she had shot him.

    He cleared his heart and mentioned that he was not thinking of a partnership, he was just thinking of a solution to her problem by making sure a number of ships and task forces would filter through Quickly Bay. He added that the income from a well-founded business based on the more fundamental pleasures could possibly wipe out debt and actually reap wealth and prosperity. She said nothing.

    Shortly thereafter, based on her own thinking and planning, she rented out some rooms to female "unfortunates" who were extraordinarily lovely and talented in music and other diversions. In a few short months, she became enormously successful at her new trade with the circuitous assistance of her friend at the Admiralty.

    After some seven years of providing service far beyond the call of duty, Pudding’s was the most popular stop for ships from everywhere and anywhere. Margaret was delighted, and so was the Admiral, but he was finding it difficult to travel so far so often, so he thought of the ship idea where officers would gather for entertainment. This would, of course, include him. He arranged for her to "apply herself" to a ship that would appear majestically by Spring. She would take the application seriously.

 

7

 

On January 1, 1771, Pudding's Shelter goes red.

 

 

    Pudding’s Inn and Shelter was more than just a place for romance, it was a home for the children whose father’s faces blended into the current of gentlemen who graced Pudding’s. Margaret knew that each and every one of them had excellent blood in their veins, but whose blood remained, one half, a mystery.

    Pudding’s was also a place of work for the families of the missing crew of the Margaret. Among these was Lilla Swain, dark-haired beauty no one could reach. Her father, Anton Swain, second in command, was also a distant person who spoke little but said much. He was a fine, tall, pipe-smoking man with black hair and a large smile that showed itself on occasion, particularly when he saw his daughter of ten.

    Her mother, Ada, was short and wide, more like a round loaf of fresh bread than anything else. She always smelled of dough and fresh bread and lent her craft to her daughter who added a vast array of diverse recipes to "have something to serve with the bread". Both parents were gone now, but Lilla seemed unmoved. To this day, she had never shed a tear.

 

8

 

The Swain home burns in 1772.

 

 

    The Swain house had burned some years ago, and Margaret had insisted that Lilla and her mother move in with her. When Ada passed away, the room became Lilla’s even though she continued to occupy only one half of the room.

    When Ada agreed to accept Margaret’s offer, she insisted upon cooking to pay their way which improved Pudding’s to such an extent that some gentlemen began to arrive at dinnertime instead of properly in the evening. They would mingle a bit in the front parlors then make their way quietly to the kitchen where they would compliment and adore until Ada provided them with a seat and a sample.

    This became a habit with some and provided a bit of awkwardness until Ada arranged a small dining area, provided the gentlemen with a menu replete with some impressive prices, added a selection of wine that could be purchased separately, covered the tables in white linen, added candles and placed a local musician in the corner. The idea was so successful that Margaret insisted on splitting the income with Ada so she could have money to spend.

    After Ada, Lilla took over the job and expanded the menu to such an extent, Margaret became irritable over the front hallway filled with hungry, not randy gentlemen, so she expanded the dining area to include more tables and more service. She found the men purchased more wine and food when served by two of the girls dressed in a manner that would intoxicate men in a manner infinitely more delightful than any spirit, domestic or otherwise. This proved to be less stressful for the girls, who traded off from their customary duties. Margaret was so amused with the way things had turned out, she changed the small sign at the end of the walk to Pudding’s Inn and Shelter instead of the old, Pudding’s Shelter.

 

9

 

Ada Swain makes a dining room in 1773, and Pudding's Shelter becomes an inn in 1774.

 

 

    The expansive basement, that led out onto a flat plain on one side, served as modest, but comfortable, lodging for the girls and the children born to them. There were twelve ladies and four children. In addition, there was a large bunkroom with six children who had no other home. They had just wandered in over the years and had never left. The offspring and indigents ranged in age from two to eight.

    One of the "ladies" had become the mother of two. Her oldest was Rachel Beans who, at eight, became the "mother" of the others so their mothers could rest and perform their duties. Rachel sang like a bird and filled the early evening with enchanting melodies for those young ones who were to go to sleep. She, and the other older children, who became questioning, accepted the veiled explanations from their respective parent as to why they should play in the yard and remain aloof from those who populated the rest of Quickly Bay.

    They all became used to the looks and remarks that followed them along the waters and out onto Pudding Wharf. Both children of the ladies and the children of Pudding’s felt the same. Rachel watched the boys study her as if they were asking themselves if she were part of the "situations" at the big white house on the bluff. She studied herself now and then and wondered if she would be able to join her mother in her duties at some point. Up to now, Vivian Bean had told her nothing, but it did not keep Rachel from knowing.

    Rachel showed no preferences and did not see any distinctions in the young crew of fifteen. Her attentions were universal, and she was just as effective with the oldest boy, her own age, Peter, as she was with the two-year-old, Melissa. She was quite old for her years and worked a long day to serve and putter over her brood. This dedication did not go unnoticed by the ladies nor Mrs. Pudding nor Lilla.

 

10

 

American independence is declared on July 4, 1776.   Benjamin Franklin visits France in December.  France joins America in 1778, and on January 3rd of the same year, a man calling himself Edgar Hadley, 53 at the time, meets and marries a girl named Cinnamon, 26 at the time.  Near England, in February, a frigate of unique character and running under an assumed name of Cutlass, loses its Captain Alexander, 41 at the time in a freak storm.  After badly needed repairs at Sheerness, a man named Brayman, 39 at the time, takes charge of the ship.  He is asked to do so by Admiral Herhanden, who has something in mind for ship and crew.

 

---

 

PART THREE

 

Feenicks, a Ship of Life

 

1

She was not fitted out to her best, and she was ballasted to compensate for the 24 cannons she did not receive.  The ship that steered with a backwards wheel that turned the ship to the left when you turned the wheel to the right, and turned to the right when you turned the wheel to the left was moved some three miles away where she spend the next five years as a home for shipworkers building ships in an adjacent yard.  With the ship went the twins.  The large, handsome boy, named Ezra, left the ship and went to work for his father as a carpenter.  He had dreams of sailing with the ship, but those dreams were dashed when she was put to anchor.  Allard Prenter’s legacy seemed to be dimmed.

 

    One day in 1762, the Admiralty decided it needed more ships prepared for the French and Indian War. Somehow, the nameless frigate was allocated funds. She was rigged fully and provided with 24 nine-pounders after her compensatory ballast was removed. Another year went by, and there she sat. For the next two years, the ship acted as an anchored training ship because of her odd steering.

    On the morning of September 15, 1764, an adventuresome captain, named Augustus Alexander, specified her rig, which was his prerogative, put a crew together and prepared to prove she could be sailed. This captain was a young nobleman who was a member of a group of covert officers assigned to the various Royal services to coordinate events, whenever necessary, in the best interest of England. To make sure the frigate was untraceable, they wanted to declare her sunk until they found she was not officially registered. The only proof of her existence was in the files of a small private, local yard.

    This fact was quick confirmed when a lowly clerk in the yard office found a gentleman pouring through documents. When queried, the gentleman, closed the drawer, smiled at the clerk, and thanked him for being so loyal to his master's files. Within hours, the clerk and two craftsmen who worked on the frigate were impressed into the Navy. After this event, no records pertaining to the Feenicks existed. Unknown to the twins, a few of the original workers at Portsmouth, and Ezra Pudding, the tall captain who attended Prenter's funeral, arranged for their names to be missing when a band of official representatives was sent out to erase knowledge of the Feenicks from the face of the Earth.

 

2

 

Feenicks begins her life at sea.

 

 

    Finding a partially registered ship of this size was quite a treasure. Captain Alexander, whose real name was never revealed, had the frigate painted black, her insides red and had the name Dove painted on her stern.

    For the next 13 years, the ship, called the Dove, Spider, Blackhawk, Phantom, Pixie, Sir Buck and others remained under Alexander’s command. She sailed endlessly all over the seas continuing to baffle and confuse her crews, but she was in the service of the King, and everyone was reasonably paid. The ship’s unusual propensities caused Alexander incredible headaches that would last for days when his ship would not respond to his orders. She continually avoided conflicts but provided endless safe landings and pickups of agents and other persons of the night.

    She seemed resigned to her fate and only complained in ways that continued to confound her crews. Water would gush from seams that were caulked; doors would not open; sounds abounded that were not typical of a ship, but she also performed feats that endeared the ship to her crews.

    Her greatest attribute was her ability to come about into the wind without going aback. The physics of the time and the design of ships should not have allowed her to pass her bluffy bow through the wind to the other tack. She did not like to ware like other ships, and would fight her helm until the weary helmsman and frustrated captain would swing her face to the wind. Then, she would gracefully turn and move off without a sound. They used to say she had mermaids pushing her stern, and many a man who looked over her taffrail swore to it.

    Her sails would mysteriously disengage if a storm threatened to put her on beam’s end, and she would right herself slowly to wallow in the troughs and rise over the crests. Her decks would be awash, but she seemed to feel caressed by the raging currents and showed a nervous anticipation, like a horse, when she sensed the growing clouds and lightening. She ghosted in no wind and would creep up on boat crews set out to pull her through. Rowing crews would find themselves rowing frantically to keep from being run down, but she would never harm a soul. It was not a part of her personality. She would slow just behind them and encourage the tired men to put down their oars and return aboard. She seemed almost apologetic about being a ship of sail.

    One night, on a particularly cold night in February of 1778, the lucky ship seemed to run out of luck. The Cutlass, as she was now known, was plunging toward the English coast on her way home when Alexander and part of her crew were lost in a freak storm. The ship survived the unexpected blast in her inimitable way, and was brought limping into a lesser-known harbor for repairs. The master of the ship was her former executive officer, an old salt named Buster Brayman who had been impressed five years earlier. His clear thinking, knowledge of the ship and the respect he had from the crew brought the Cutlass in safely. At this point, her rigging was not much to look at nor was it of much use. Ice had claimed her spars and lines. This unfortunate event showed that even Feenicks was human, and as such, was subject to error.

 

3

 

Feenicks becomes Feenicks at last.

 

 

    At the Admiralty, the loss of Alexander was considered devastating, and Brayman was ordered to retire the ship until Spring. Her name was painted off her stern, and she was placed at anchor. Brayman was asked to remain with the ship and given a promise of a rank with the Navy and a retirement if he would repair the ship and move it to its next location. He agreed. This arrangement seemed to be executed in so smooth a manner, one might suspect that there was more to Brayman than met the eye.

    Since the whimsical frigate had seen much service and was continually updated, she was a fine ship except for her eccentricities, but she remained in limbo until the day that Admiral Sir Malumphrey Herhanden decided to promote her into being. Herhandon had her quietly registered as a French prize and called her Feenicks. She looked like a light-weight French frigate, but Prenter had miraculously built in strength and survivability.

    The Admiral did not bother to explain the name, nor how he came to find this excellent ship. He did go to the large table and stiffly salute a common man, a man long gone to the world of shipping, but not to Herhanden, who knew him quite well, even though they had never been formally introduced.

    His hand returned to his side, and he smiled at the aid who came into the chamber and watched the Admiral salute an empty table.

 

4

In April of 1778, Feenicks receives her new rigging, sheath, tar and tallow.  On the 13th of June, she arrives in Quickly Bay.  Brayman disappears for a number of days without explanation.

 

    Herhanden ordered Brayman to deliver Feenicks to Quickly Bay then retire ashore at lieutenant’s pay. He was delighted to do so. On the way to Quickly Bay, Feenicks came close to a battle with a much larger French ship that turned to engage her. Feenicks showed little interest and sailed herself away from the potential conflict as her new crew scrambled to recover control of all the braces, guys and sheets that seemed to have minds of their own.

    The French vessel did not pursue, which bewildered the crew but not Brayman. He had seen this happen too many times before. Feenicks must have whispered something because the other ship would not answer her helm and wobbled off toward the West with her officers screaming at the hapless crew. Brayman laughed openly at the twins who puttered on the deck below.

    Once Feenicks was anchored in the protected waters of Quickly Bay, Brayman and his crew bent to the task of keeping her tidy and at ease. Lieutenant Brayman was amused when he found out his short command was to deliver a ship that was to become a playpen for the Admiralty. Feenicks looked like a ship of the line, showed well and didn’t suggest anything odd to the trained eye. Her company would be in uniform, watches would be kept, and the business of maintenance and cleaning would go on normally as it would on any ship of her type and stature.

    Brayman had himself piped from the ship and taken to shore. He looked back at the captainless ship and thought about her for a bit. She had brought him safely into Quickly Bay and a miraculous retirement. He saluted her and stepped from the longboat onto the wharf. It wasn’t long until he had a small cottage on the hill and a place at the wharf with the other retired salts. The bunches of men enjoyed the array of new stories that Brayman brought to the waterfront.

    Out on the water, Feenicks’s galley became fit for a chef, and her insides became resplendent in erotic paintings, golden carving, guild and silk, furnishings, rugs and fittings more appropriate for a palace than a ship. In a matter of a month, she rode peacefully at anchor rocking to the cadence of love and was graced with a copy of Raphael’s Feenicks done somewhat awkwardly by a slightly lit artist from London.

    Ships of various varieties and rank sailed in and sailed out of Quickly Bay with officers frequenting the lovely house on the bluff, and the crews tended to aboard Feenicks by the Pudding lovelies commanded by Mrs. Pudding herself, who on occasion spent the night on Feenicks. She would look out over the bay toward the sea and think of Captain Ezra Pudding of the good ship, Margaret.

As in any situation, there were amusing and unusual incidents that are of the type that make life interesting. This was quite true in Quickly Bay, a bay of scurrying commerce and trade. There were many merchants and traders, sailors and tradesmen who accommodated any type of repair from home to dock to ship to wagon. It was a pleasant town with one policeman, one mayor, one central city wharf, many smaller ones, cute houses, shops and open markets.

    During the Spring, Summer and Fall, the bay was full of ships. There were occasional collisions, some drunken brawls, a few drownings, some solemn burials and some wonderful nights of singing and partying. The main park hosted dances and musicians and sailors sleeping off their burdens acquired at Preston’s Pub and Inn. Other days were gray with rain and winds, winging birds and puddles, but the spirits of the Porters, the name given by the townspeople for themselves was always high.

    Many sailors had frequented Quickly Bay, and some had actually returned to retire. The bulk of the ragged, tattered groups of old men who accumulated in clumps along the wharves had returned to stay after many years at sea. There wasn’t one port in the world that didn’t have a story about it. Because the Port was known for its hospitality, all who sailed in and sailed out felt that their visit had been too short. Because of this, Quickly Bay had been given an affectionate nickname. It was called "Quickly Bay".

    As far as the townspeople were concerned, there was mixed opinion about Pudding’s. Some just accepted it as a fact of life; some were quite unpleasant about the goings-on on the bluff. Those who were served by it, cherished it; those who were not, criticized it. Regardless of anyone’s point of view, the day the Admiralty blessed the Port with its presence, Pudding’s was accepted.

    The revenues from the Navy were impressive to say the least. The quality of life improved when the Admiral took a notion to Mrs. Pudding. All Porters profited mightily in the last five years, and things were looking much better with the arrival of the sparkling frigate of black and yellow that had become a permanent fixture not far to the north at the most serene portion of the bay.

    An interesting story involved a lifelong Porter, Bob Blakely. He was the proprietor of the General Store in Quickly Bay, and because of his ranking in the community, he had been given a special rate at Pudding’s. When his wife, Patty, passed away, he was given an additional discount to soothe his sorrow. To his surprise, and to the surprise of Quickly Bay and Pudding’s, Bob fell in love with Bonnie Nice, from Pudding’s. Bonnie was the daughter of Quickly Bay’s ship painter who died in a ship accident. The young girl, then seventeen, was left behind by her mother, Lil, who left town the day of her husband’s death, and never returned.

    The town had to bury him, and Pudding’s paid the bill. Bonnie came to the large house on the bluff nine years ago, began a career as one of the "ladies" eight years ago, and left Pudding’s one Spring ago to marry Bob Blakely. This marked a turning point in the opinions toward Pudding’s lodging girls, and in the last year, two more girls were whisked away into fashionable homes, one to a Navy captain, and the other to a trader who came in by ship.

    Another story involved Bekka Stein, a German girl who was left behind from one of the ships. She could not speak English, had no possessions and was very fat. She was so fat, that she could hardly walk. As usual, when anyone had no home or way to work, Margaret Pudding was called to see if there were any "positions" open. When Margaret saw Bekka, she was quite surprised. The German girl took one look at her and broke into deep sobs. Margaret went and hugged all three hundred pounds of girl.

Pudding’s hired the girl as a maid on the lower level since she was not ready to negotiate the steps to the second floor. Margaret put the girl on a diet and carefully watched her shrink. When she reached two hundred pounds and began to feel almost normal, she became the sparkle in Mr. Benjamin Pott’s eye. He, new to town, and recent purchaser of a small dory building business, took one look at Bekka and fell in love.

    Bekka began to get concerned about putting on any weight and losing her new admirer. He secretly talked to Lilla and began bringing sweets and other tantalizing foods to her small room. Together, Benjamin, all of one hundred pounds and Bekka, rapidly returning to three, would twitter together in a world of their own.

    One day, Mr. Pott whisked Bekka away, and they were married in the Port Church. That was five years ago. Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Pott now have three little Potts and a small bakery business. Ben seems so pleased now that his wife has blossomed to an astounding three hundred and fifty pounds. He, on the other hand, has remained at one hundred. He talks lovingly to her, and she is yet to learn English.

    Pudding’s inherited two new girls in the same year, Betty Cooken, recently out of a local marriage because her husband had been found frequenting the same Pudding’s, and Sarah Blenheim, a young distinguished women who arrived at the Inn and asked if she could be employed by Margaret. Upon being asked why a woman in her situation would want to provide the type of services required at Pudding’s, she replied that she enjoyed that type of activity more than most, and felt that she was sorely taken advantage of when giving her favors away. She felt she was worthy of much more.

    Margaret took an immediate liking to the girl, and hired her. As for Betty, her former husband, he faithfully asked for her each time he arrived, she accepted, and their relationship became better than ever.

 

5

Somewhere in the heavens, Allard Prenter watches an older version of Mr. Keppel side off against D'Orvilliers at Ushant on July 27, 1778.  He sees Mr. Franklin visit England and Spain join France and America in 1779.

 

    Edgar Hadley, at 58, died on March 25, 1779, but not before recruiting his young lover, Cinnamon, into an organization normally left to men. The admiral, who was supposed to have nothing to do with this type of activity, was not happy when the word reached him. He was not happy with Hadley's death, nor his choice of confidant. He did not contact Cinnamon, who was smiling when she shouldn't have been. It would not be long before Mr. Hadley's true identity would be revealed. When this happened, the now Mrs. Hadley would become just a smudge in history, since she would no longer be needed.

    In April of 1779, the HMS Galatea took Gustavus Coyningham's Revenge, which made the Admiralty delighted. Coyningham's American privateering was giving the English fits, and with this man, his crew and ship out of the fight, the seas could almost return to being British.

    The Admiral's superiors suggested a privateering plan of its own after Coyningham's capture. Brayman, fresh from the Feenicks, suggested the use of a long-time candidate, a gentleman of position and means, Leslie Sweet, for the land portion of the secret servicing, since the young man was able to enamor women of almost any nationality.

    In this case, he would be quite useful applying his abilities with American women. Herhandon listened carefully, then smiled. A ship, a man of means for land operations, a man of the sea for Feenicks, a lovely lady in Quickly Bay. The Admiral punched the table lightly.

    Shortly after this meeting, on May 1, Brayman returned to his ship, and the Admiral called for a Captain Ramsbotham to be brought to his clandestine studio in New Castle. He had plans for this particular captain because of his unusual behavior, which did not endear him to his superiors, but qualified him immensely for what the Admiral had in mind.

    While he was at it, he had the HMS Loyal, commanded by a Captain Grissom, sent to Quickly Bay. This act was suggested by Mr. Brayman before he left. Brayman was a man of impeccable timing and coordination, and the Admiral had great faith in the quiet man of the sea. Little did he know that the grieving Cinnamon Hadley would find this particular elegant captain quite appealing and definitely a device for dispelling high levels of perceived mourning. The Loyal would arrive in Quickly Bay on July 7, 1779.

 

---

 

PART FOUR

 

Leslie Sweet and His Captaincy

 

1

A man of charm and charming women make days and nights interesting for all but those who are left out of these goings-on.  Normally left out are those married to those who are playing the game.

 

    May 10, 1779 proved to be a monstrous day in the life of a young nobleman, Leslie Sweet, heir to estates and money, gifted in music, dance and art, shrewd in business and bored to tears with his situation. His life of mild debauchery was getting too mild, therefore, he contemplated social suicide. This, he thought, would put adventure in his life.

    He sauntered up to the gloriously lovely wife of the dashing Captain David Holmes Grissom, who, at the time, was at sea doing something selflessly aboard the HMS Loyal for the King, and invited himself into her bed. Expecting a scene, which he had hoped would happen, perhaps a scream and a slap, he extended his chin out for the anticipated attack.

    She leaned forward and whispered in his ear and left his chin alone. His eyes blinked, and he was suddenly left alone with the most splendid pictures of rapturous, erotic gymnastics tumbling about in his almost empty head.

    It was no time at all before the colorful pictures left in his head turned to reality. He was caught in a female maelstrom; she was personally turning him and her chamber upside down. The good lady was expending the whole of her charming self on poor Leslie. Every time he lifted his wracked frame from amid the ocean of pillows, she would pull him down again. In time, it appeared that he would be whittled down to nothing, and what would be left would be worthless, not even enough for a decent visit behind the trees.

    The culmination of all good engagements soon came to a peak, and both participants exploded into a phantasmagoria of sounds and colors that could be heard and seen for miles. These incendiary happenings were simply brushed off by the staff who scurried about tidying up the aftermath and stood waiting to serve the two with their next helping of food and drink. Winstead, the butler by the door was almost thrown from his feet when the good Captain Grissom came sailing through the door with one hand on his sword and the other on a rush of roses and greens. Tucked under his arm was a bottle of some rare and expensive spirits.

    Since Winstead was used to his lady’s amorous adventures, he initiated his Plan B escape for the hapless wretch that was soon to be discovered. He reached to his right and pulled on the light green cord once, twice, a third time. A light bell sounded softly in the distance. This signal arrived at the ears of the good lady in time for her to throw Leslie from the bed with a start. She quickly pointed to his carefully laid out clothing and motioned to the door at the far end of the room.

    She clapped her hands, and Pompina, the hairdresser quickly entered the room and set up her workings in record time. Leslie donned his clothing and streaming shirttails, belts and other accouterments, padded to the door that suddenly opened. Instead of the feared husband, Winstead’s stern face appeared in the darkness.

    Leslie turned to wave to Abigaile, but she was quickly sinking into the midst of a flurry of hair dressing. He wondered why she had had him lay his clothing out so neatly, and so accessible if one were in a hurry. He marveled at the planned escape based on some dulcimer bells he heard. Winstead pulled on the young gentleman and yanked him through the doorway into the darkness. The unfortunate result of this yank was the inadvertent loss of a bowtie which settled on the floor just inside the room as the door closed.

As quickly as Leslie disappeared, Captain Grissom appeared. He blew into the room in a rage of happiness and lust. He tossed the flowers to his wife, put down the bottle, unbuckled his sword belt and let his weapon array clatter to the floor. With a gallant wave, he dismissed the hairdresser, planted an ocean-sized kiss on his wife’s lips and lifted her from her seat. Just before he dove onto the bed, he saw the tie.

 

2

 

Abigail Grissom, a flower for all occasions.

 

 

    Abigail Grissom was not your typical young lady of influence and wealth. She was an incredibly amorous young lady of influence of wealth. Being the daughter of a current Admiral, Sir Bennington Pengray, she was also introduced to His Majesty’s Navy which she promptly applied to her line of paramours. Since she couldn’t marry the Navy, which was her preference, she settled on a randy, well-equipped Captain who conveniently went to sea now and then giving opportunities to the rest of the Navy and an occasional old friend, new friend, newly found friend or a complete stranger.

    When she was a young girl, she continued to analyze and study the attributes with the young lads from neighboring estates. It was a figurative comparison since she had some pride, not much, but some. One particular young man mentioned that having one of these would put him in a much better position as having one of those.

    She mentioned that having one of these would put her in a much better position as having one of those. She moved forward to make a point, which she did with such alacrity, precision, control and energy, that he had to admit that with one of these, he was delighted to have one of those. She mentioned that with one of these she could have more of those because those seemed to lose interest at a much greater rate than one of these. He had to agree as she lifted herself to her feet and danced away.

    As she got a bit older, Abigaile refined her art to a fine edge and could not only reach an inordinately high percentage of completion for a person of her gender, but she could send the other gender into such levels of ecstasy that they would begin divesting themselves of qualities of life like their freedom through pleads of marriage, their wealth through gifts and other jingling/sparkling items, their wives and other women.

    She was so coveted as a personal source of revelry that no one member of the court spoke a word about her for fear of losing her or being named. Many feared here, because if she were polite to someone, he immediately fell under scrutiny. Even women backed off from here, because she was known to become involved with select woman now and ten.

    She delighted in the fact that no one talked, and she was part of the secrets of almost every male in the court. The only revealing glances she would receive at a given function came from those who did not know her and wanted to. When these persons inquired about her, the answer was always the same, "That, is Lady Abigaile, the splendid wife of Captain, Sir David Holmes Grissom, of the HMS Loyal." One of the most pronounced ironies about her was her involvement in clandestine England.

 

3

 

Captain Grissom, the suddenly remembered forgotten one.

 

 

    The good Captain was also an interesting study, since he was the son of a mother and father who were so loyal to each other that they forgot they had a son. He felt it humiliating to be at home because he had to constantly remind them that he was there. They would take their eyes from each other and look blankly at him as if to ask him why he was bothering to interrupt. He would just smile, pat them both and go on about his life, which he did at schools and eventually in the Navy. He liked the Navy because he got so much attention. It didn’t seem to matter what he was about in any day; there was always someone watching him, studying him, training him, chastising him, rewarding him and so on. To David, the Navy was his aggregate parent, and he was delighted.

    Once on the sea, he proved to be an able officer and quickly rose to the top. The day after he got his first ship, a lowly coastal schooner with eight guns, he married Abigaile Pengray because he didn’t know any better. She accepted his offer of marriage after she arranged for him to ask.

    Because she was well aware of how much protection he could afford her, how much integrity she would command, how incredibly insulated he was from her reputation, how many months he would be at sea, how nice it was to have an Admiral father, who could keep her abreast of all her husband’s moves and, last, but not least, able to place herself in such a position as to get the attention of the clandestine gentlemen who frequented her father's house. Grissom was the only lover she had who put her to sleep, and with her list of social obligations, she needed her sleep.

    What Abigaile didn’t know was that the Captain found his wife a bit boring, after a while, because she wanted to be social, and he wanted adventure. He would mention an afternoon of riding or sailing or walking or such, and she would suddenly pale and look faint. She would put a floppy fishlike hand out to him at the beginning of a dramatic swoon, and he would give it a quick kiss and let it fall back into her lap. She did not appreciate this at all, and the Captain didn’t either.

    Therefore, he was an easy target for a woman who had adventure in mind that did not involve a bed. Since there were few women like this, it took some years for him to find her, and for her to find him. It happened one day when the Loyal was laying over for some light repairs and a bit of rest.

    As the frigate lay swinging at her anchors Quickly Bay, the Captain came across a refreshingly dynamic woman who was sailing a small open boat across his stern. He looked down sternly, and she waved at the handsome officer.

    On the third day of having this lovely lass sail past his ship, Grissom had one of his lieutenants find out who she was. She was Cinnamon Hadley, the daughter of a Quickly Bay absentee fishing fleet owner and aristocrat; sister to a Navy Captain; and the former wife of an Edgar Hadley who had died recently in a mishap. Grissom took no time at all making sure his ship stayed an extra week, compliments of his father-in-law, and that he was introduced to the young lady forthwith.

    Cinnamon took an immediate liking to Grissom, because they both jumped into her skiff and sailed around the harbor. A particular afternoon when the winds picked up, brought them closer together because of a bout of torrential rain and wind that blew them into a small cove where they made their relationship a bit more personal and inviting. Upon parting, a few days later, the Captain promised to return, and the young lady promised to wait. She had no other commitments, at the moment, and he only had a wife to consider. He told her he was married, and she said she had been. No further arrangements or statements were made.

    When Leslie Sweet’s feet hit the ground after Winstead gave him a push, he was already running toward his trusted steed to make his getaway. Sweet was marveling at the efficient manner which the Grissom household handled their lady’s affairs when he came crashing to the ground amid an explosion of hair, teeth, ears and a bit of a tail. The lord ground to a halt and was immediately loved by his companion of many years, a dog of questionable lineage, the good canine sir, Phineas Pett. Just as both master and hound recovered themselves, and Sweet regained his momentum, the thunderous voice of Captain Grissom could be heard from the ramparts. Sweet did not look up for fear of being recognized since the Captain and he had played cards on occasion.

    At his horse, Sweet rose quickly and established his seat. With a kick, horse and rider were off down the lane, but not until the Captain was heard to bellow the words that would haunt the fleeing lord for days, Phineas; his lover’s husband had recognized his dog. Damn, Sweet thought, as his horse, his unruly self and his all-too-recognizable, floppy dog disappeared into the night.

 

4

 

The gallant Mister Sweet takes to the hills and eventually the sea.

 

 

    Sweet rode back to his home and went in by the back door, Helson, the tall, gray-pated butler smiled at him and took his coat which he hung up on a nail near the pantry. Helson knew that, at this hour, he should park himself in the middle of the hall so he could address the back door as well as the front door. Sweet thanked him, grabbed a bite from a plate of food on the table and raced upstairs. In moments he was back with a pack that suggested that the master would be away for a time.

He winked at the butler, told him that he had looked in on his parents and had given them each a kiss as they slept. He told Helson that he couldn’t tell him where he was going nor when he would be back. Helson grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Sweet stood and studied the old man he had known since he could first see.

    Helson reached into a drawer and took out a leather pouch that clinked when he clinked it. The old man smiled and told Sweet that the pouch contained gold and silver pieces accumulated from years worth of left-over money scattered about the house by whomever. He told his ward that he knew this might come in handy at some point. Sweet leaned forward and kissed the man on his wrinkled forehead, gave him a hug, and told him that he was only in a little bit of trouble, not a whole lot. In other words, he had not killed anyone nor had he cheated at cards. It was a matter involving a young lady.

    Helson laughed and told him that he had assumed from all the nights he had waited for him to come home that one time would be the last for a while. Sweet told him that he would see him soon, but the old man knew that if he waited too long, that would not be the case. Both men parted without another word. Both felt stingingly alone.

    Sweet rode along a dark road that looked like so many other dark roads that the trio had trekked in the last week. He was riding slowly so the loping pile of hair following would not get too tired. Phineas swayed back and forth and looked fondly upward at his master. He seemed to know that they were going on an adventure that would not bring them back home for some time. To Phineas, this mattered little since he only liked Helson who fed him on schedule and occasionally tried to get the knots and tangles out of his fur. This pointless process usually led to an unhappy dog and an unhappy butler, but......in retrospect, it was good.

    At a juncture in the road, Sweet stopped and looked up at the slice of moon. It was a clear night, and just enough light to see, but not enough to reveal one’s self too distinctly. He dismounted and patted Phineas who began sniffing around for a place to pee. Soon, the horse was grazing nearby, Sweet was lodged between a large tree and some bushes, and Phineas was content to have peed on all areas commanded by another animals all he offered was dust. The threesome assumed that the night would grow old without any further effort, but, as usual, they were wrong.

    Sweet let his eyes close and his imagination reign. He thought of how he had been approached by Haley Dunn and quizzed as to his feelings about politics, war and such. The fop had laughed and wobbled about the fountain and made dueling moves and darted in and out of the shadows. He disappeared for a moment, then as swiftly as he had gone, he returned, this time behind Sweet. He felt the cold of a blade at his neck. Dunn pulled the cold metal across his skin then spun him around so he could see that the cold metal was not a knife at all. He laughed weakly as Dunn moved closer.

    He asked him if he wanted to play the game of hide and seek. Sweet had said no. He was asked if he would like to be a dashing hero of the night. Sweet did not answer; he just thought his friend of many years had gone mad. Dunn was so close, he could smell his dinner onions. He was asked if he would like his droll life to become an adventure. Sweet looked at Dunn and realized his eyes were colder than the metal that had crossed his skin. He felt himself begin to squirm at the thought of being in the night alone, on a mission, just like he was now, except that he was not on a mission, he was running for his life.

    Suddenly, he was popped out of his thoughts by the sound of a horse approaching. The steady clop of a trotting horse got louder until the horse and rider arrived at the crossroads just beyond their position. The figure (Cinnamon Hadley) was dressed in dark clothing, the horse was dark so there was no way for Sweet to determine who the stranger was or why he was out at this time of night. A gentleman would have taken lodging by this hour. Perhaps it was a highwayman.

    The figure dismounted and pulled the horse to the side of the road. As the horse began munching grass and blowing its nose loudly, the rider moved to a small rise, negotiated its height and sat on a rock. In the moonlight, Sweet could see the glint of the white light on the barrels of two pistols.

    In the matter of moments, another rider approached from the direction Sweet and his hound had come. At the crossroads, Sweet expected the pistoled man to jump out and confront the approaching rider who was mumbling to someone, other than himself, and seemed a bit put out, perhaps a party or two too many. The inebriated rider rode through the intersection unmolested and continued on his way; it appeared there was a youth perched on the rear of the saddle behind the rider. There was the sound that appeared to be the clanking of a sword and chain which suggested the traveler was an officer of some sort.

    Sweet was now totally confused, and he was amazed at the amount of traffic there was at this hour of the night. Just as he turned to look back at the figure with the guns, he saw he was no longer there. He moved back into the bush until he felt the cold metal of a barrel on the back of his neck. He leaped forward and turned. There, facing him, was the dark stranger. There was just enough light to see the two silver pistols aimed at him.

    He explained in bumbler’s language that he had nothing and was traveling to see a sick aunt. His horse was nearby, and his dog was harmless. His face contorted when he thought of Phineas and why the damned hound had not barked or made any noise at all. He began to think the dog had been quietly dispatched by the stranger until Phineas made an all too friendly approach. The pooch stood, looked at the man in the dark clothing, wagged his tail and sat. All three sat. They sat and sat until the stranger uncocked both guns. A beautifully soft voice asked him to remain seated and explain his real reason for being here.

    He went through a story about the aunt and her sickness and many details until it came time to tell the stranger where the aunt lived. He mentioned a town, and the guns cocked again. He mentioned another town, and the guns were again leveled at him. He pushed out his hands and began telling the truth, but he wisely left out his name and position. When he was done, the guns came down, and the woman laughed. She told him that he was quite near Quickly Bay, better known to sailors as Quickly Bay.

    With a wave, she mentioned that if he continued down the road to the right, he would be at the bay within an hour and should stop at Pudding’s for the night, particularly if he wanted any companionship. It would be the only inn open. If he went to the left, he would find Bandon’s Inn, but it catered to ruffians and the like and may not be suitable for a gentleman like himself. She leaned forward and placed a long-fingered hand on his face and mentioned how pretty he was. She asked him if was pretty all over or just in the face. Before he could answer, she was gone. In a moment, he heard her horse move down the road to the right toward Quickly Bay.

 

5

May 13 Sweet and Ramsbotham at Bandon’s Inn; involved in undercover operation to get Sweet aboard Feenicks; this is the first assignment for Cinnamon.

 

    Sweet arrived at Bandon’s in about an hour. He had taken this route because the rider at the crossroads had seen and talked to him, and this was something he did not want to have happen too often. Besides he didn’t trust her. She seemed too comfortable with his discomfort, and he was not comfortable with forward women; he like the conquest on his terms, no one else’s.

    At this point, mingling with the dregs of the Earth would be preferable to a seaport with women of the night. He thought about reconsidering, then remembered his personal oath that if had to buy a woman’s company, he would shoot himself, and he did not want this. Besides, he was certain that Captain Grissom would be close behind him, and if he had to die, it would be in dignity and not without a fight.

    If someone had been with Sweet’s wife, he thought, he would go into the night to kill the scoundrel. Therefore, there would no no reason to expect anything less of Grissom. Unknown to Sweet, Grissom was snoring in his bed next to his wife. He had chased the first score or so of midnight bandits and had even caught one. When he discovered who it was, he had apologized; he had no idea that his wife had admirers so high in the court.

    In the small courtyard adjacent to the darkened inn, he dismounted and led his horse to a half-roofed portion that held other horses. He unsaddled his steed and placed some hay in the feeder. He turned to go to the well and get a bucket of water, when he spied a figure sitting on a large keg. The man, in a uniform, was staring at him. Sweet bowed politely and gave a greeting. This might be the man he saw on the road, but where was the youth? What he got in return was completely unexpected. The figure stood, weaved about for a moment or two then fell over in a heap.

    Sweet went to the man and stooped down. He moved the figure to the side of the well and propped him up on the side roof supports. As the man snored, Sweet got a bucket of water and gave it to his horse. After seeing that some of the other buckets were empty, he went and filled them all up. When he got back to the well for the last time, he noticed the man was gone. Sweet shrugged his shoulders and found himself a place in the horse shed and unpacked his pack for the night. Once comfortable, he began to nod off, but sleep was not to be his. Suddenly, the man who had disappeared, reappeared and shoved a bottle of something in his face.

    Before he could do much, he found himself embroiled in a conversation that was proceeding at a staccato pace. All sorts of information from Navy secrets to domestic situations rolled from the drunken officer in a manner similar to a woman conveying the trite goings-on of the day to her husband. The only words that he could understand, mainly because they were repeated so often, were "Feenicks" and "Quickly Bay". Neither of these words were said with any profound liking. It appeared the incredibly effeminate officer was to assume command of a ship in Quickly Bay. Sweet took time away from the flood of colorful words to recall the strange woman with the silver pistols at the crossroads. If what she said was correct, then this dandy was on the wrong road. Sweet mentioned this, but was completely overwhelmed by further descriptions of things he had no idea of.

    He peered closer to look beneath the man’s hood but could only discern some facial characteristics. He looked strangely familiar. The officer waved and fluttered in his descriptions of all sorts of ocean, ship and Navy things including some details of his preferences for crewman of different varieties and ethnic backgrounds. It was obvious that his man preferred the company of males to females. His affectations amused Sweet even at this time of the night, or should he say, morning. He recalled the youth, and gave himself some mental pictures that he didn’t like; he quickly dismissed them.

    After a bit more of the burning contents of the bottle, the cold in the night seem to ebb away, and an inner heat consumed him. Obviously, the effect on the other man was not the same, and he actually pulled his cape closer about him. As quickly as the words had begun, they stopped. Sweet looked at the man who looked at him. The man was studying him. The stranger popped closer which caused Sweet to back away. The officer pulled him closer, and their two noses almost touched. The man whispered that Sweet was quite an attractive man, did he know? Sweet nodded that he did not know.

    Suddenly the hood was thrown back, and Sweet felt like he was looking at himself. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and assumed the moonlight was playing tricks, but both men looked like brothers. Sweet laughed, and so did the officer who immediately introduced himself as Captain Hare Ramsbotham, master of the frigate, Feenicks, currently awaiting him, at anchor, in Quickly Bay. Sweet introduced himself and was quite shocked that he told the truth. The officer gave him and hug and passed out in his arms. Sweet lowered the man to the ground and covered him in his cape. He was not so kind to the bottle which he finished off and threw into the corner of the yard. It came to rest, and so did Sweet.

    It seemed moments, and it actually was, when the good captain pulled Sweet to his feet and told him he had something to show him. He bellowed for someone, and the someone came out of the shadows; it was a boy. The two toddled over to a saddle and pack pile into which the captain pointed. After a moment’s fumbling, the boy came up with a painted picture of an old man, a girl and a young man. Sweet could barely make out the details, but he did find the female attractive, and the young man good looking, very much like himself. The old man was sitting, and the two younger people stood behind him. Sweet held the small painting and tilted it back and forth in the light. He swore the man looked just like himself.

    The Captain pointed at the girl and told Sweet that that was he. Sweet moved the man’s finger to the male and received a thank you. Hare informed him that the man seated was his father, and the girl was his sister. He said that his father was an aristocratic tyrant who owned a number of businesses as opposed to outright investments, and that he wanted his children to follow in his footprints. Needless to say he talked his father into purchasing his colors so he could be an officer at sea, and his sister talked him into paying for a wedding to a common man who unfortunately was a very nice man.

    The Captain sniffled his nose, wiped his face on his sleeve, and gave the boy a boot. The poor husband had perished in a work-related accident, he relayed through heavy lips, and had left his wife considerable sums of money because it turned out that the man was not a common man, but the son of an aristocrat. He had used a false name to hide his lineage because he had shot someone in a duel. His real name had been Cabbage, Cribbage or something like that. His sister and Hadley had not had children because Hadley had forbidden it. That was sad because his sister was so motherly.

    Ramsbotham had the boy put the picture away and staggered away to find something else, and Sweet trailed after him. The Captain stopped at a gateway to the road and studied it. His eyes went to the stars, and he rotated around a bit. Suddenly he turned and bubbled out some directions. It seems he had taken the wrong road. The Bay was that way, he said pointing off down the road. He suggested they go together if Sweet was going that way, and stumbled off toward the horses. Sweet’s eyes went to the Inn and to the windows where he was certain some offended guest would appear to complain. He assumed that, at least, the proprietor would arrive, but no, the windows remained dark, and no guests complained.

    On his way, he took a left and fell down a small set of steps onto the ground below the stalls. The boy reached to help him, but the Captain pushed him away. Sweet went and retrieved the man who said he had to rest. Just as the man sat on a well coping covered with wood, the boy said something Sweet could not hear. The Captain gave the boy enough of a hit as to knock him down. The boy picked himself up and dusted off his person. Sweet went to the man and began to protest.

    The Captain stood, called him a few undecipherable names and tried to swing at him, but missed. He tried again and fell backwards onto the wooden slats that gave way with a resounding crack. The man disappeared, and a sickening sound came from the depths below. Sweet and the boy ran to the top of the well and peered in. Nothing. There were no sounds. Sweet grabbed a small stone and dropped it in. There was a long delay then a thump; the well had to be at least twenty feet deep; no man could survive a fall like that. Sweet looked at the boy who looked back. Neither spoke.

 

6

 

May 14 Sweet reports aboard Feenicks the same time Grissom sails out; he sees a captain he thinks is suspiciously like Sweet; begins year-long affair with Cinnamon Hadley.

 

Sept 23 BON HOMME RICHARD. over SERAPIS off Flamborough Point.

 

1780 comes.

 

Jan 16 RODNEY CLEARS GIBRALTER

 

April 17 RODNEY CLEARS WEST INDIES; MEETS GUICHEN

 

Sept 10 Grissom invites himself to dinner at Cinnamon’s home and finds Sweet/Ramsbotham there; gets suspicious; after dinner he goes to ship to check it out; Ramsbotham goes too; funny sequence where Grissom can’t tell the difference.

 

Sept 11 Grissom checks out some things and finds out that the captain of the ship is Sweet who is scheduled to be at Pudding’s for a party this night; he gets marines and attacks house; fire starts; Grissom is captured and put in irons on Feenicks; marines are chased back to their ship.

 

Sept 12 Feenicks is provisioned to sail; press gang goes out; girls and Margaret join crew, there is nothing here for them but to join the dock girls; Cinnamon joins too.

 

---

 

PART FIVE

 

The Flight of the Feenicks, September 13, 1780

 

1

 

Feenicks sails for Gibralter, Brayman, 41, goes along in order to protect his interest and recruits Sweet to run Privateer Plan; Admiral arrives only in time to see the Feenicks go to sea w/ Marge; Grissom is allowed on deck.

 

    Margaret would think of the Admiral every once in a while and thought about his advances and offers of marriage and the many other arrangement he promised that would allow him to create a bow wave through her sea of skirts, but she had refused as she had all offers from all gentlemen. She remained loyal to her Ezra even after these ten years. She was now thirty-six years old and wondered if she would ever remarry, if she could convince herself that Ezra was truly lost.

 

2

 

Sept 14 RODNEY IN NEW YORK

On September 25 Feenicks meets the French ship Ariel and John Paul Jones; Brayman saves the day by saying they have taken the ship and its captain, Grissom, and are going to America to join the privateers.  Lilla and Leslie married by Captain Jones who gives the ship an American flag; Grissom comes on deck for confrontation with JPJ; Sweet gives him to JPJ; Jones drops him off in France and tells him to go home.

 

    "Welcome aboard," said Leslie to the captain of the Ariel.

    "Thank you," he stated rather quietly as he wondered why none of the crew had their weapons drawn. Finishing his study of the crew, he turned his attention back to Leslie. "Why didn't you fire any of your guns?"

    "For the life of me, Sir, I have no idea. Why didn't you fire any of yours?" he asked respectfully, then grinned.

    "Sir!" he snapped at Sweet, "Only the lord knows, my good man. I am not even sure why I am standing here feeling vanquished when I should feel victorious." The captain returned Sweet's grin. "I did take your ship, didn't I?"

    "We would rather you didn't," Sweet stated still grinning.

    The captain leaned back and laughed out loud, then turned back to his own quarterdeck and bellowed, " They'd rather we didn't take their ship, Mister Rouseau!" As the laughter broadsided from the captain's ship, he shot a gaze back to Sweet, whose grin began to fade. " And why, my good man, should I not take your ship?"

    Sweet raised himself to his full height, than slamming his left foot down on the deck, assumed the same posture as the captain, and shot back, "Because we asked you not to!"

    The captain didn't blink but was obviously surprised. "Do you know who I am?" the captain asked.

    "No Sir, but we would be delighted to know who you are," Sweet responded, his grin returning to its prior brilliance.

    "My name, Sir, is Captain John Paul Jones, formerly of the warship, Bon Homme Richard." The captain waited for Sweet's response; none came.

    Brayman, standing nearby, put up his pointing finger to ask for a moment then leaned over to Sweet and whispered in his ear. Captain Jones waited patiently.

    Suddenly Sweet bolted forward and took the hapless captain by surprise. Before anyone could react, Sweet was feverishly pumping the captain's hand. Before the captain could say anything, Sweet turned to his own crew, threw his free arm around the captain's shoulder and began publicly introducing the veteran sea warrior. Jones, considerably shorter than the other man, was completely at the mercy of Sweet's loud and animated acclaiming.

    Rouseau pushed his hat back, threw his hands up in the air, shrugged and walked away.

After a thorough buffeting, Captain Jones managed to extricate himself from Sweet's tentacle arms. "And who may I ask are you?" inquired the captain straightening his hat.

    "I, Sir,am Leslie Sweet, formally of England," he pronounced loudly.

    "Well, Mister Sweet, are you not the captain of this ship?"

    "I am, and I'm not." Sweet's answer visibly annoyed Jones.

    Drawing his sword, the captain asked angrily, "Are you the captain of this ship or not?" For emphasis, Jones thrust the point of the sword into the deck.

    After being pierced by the sword, Feenicks groaned from end to end, and lurched suddenly in such a way as to knock everyone, including Captain Jones, off their feet. To keep from falling, Jones grabbed a pin rail and, in doing so, let go of the sword, which sprang back and forth wildly until the point left the deck. The sword catapulted through the air and neatly fell into the ocean without making a splash.

    After having seen and heard what just happened, Jones' well-armed crew backed up from their posts and began murmuring among themselves. After recovering his senses, Captain Jones stood up straight and looked to Sweet for an explanation, if there was one. Sweet reached up his hands and patted the mast affectionately and said "My dear Captain, I believe it is abundantly clear what I meant when I said I was the captain of this ship, more or less. Being captain of this ship is like being a husband to a wife. One is only allowed to be as much of a husband as the wife allows."

    "Am I to understand that in order to take this ship, I have to ask her permission?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes you do." Sweet reached up, and in the way of a teacher to a student, patted the mast.

    Jones leaned back and laughed so loud that Rouseau came back on deck. When the Frenchman saw his captain laughing loudly some distance away, he started to chuckle. Slowly and distinctly, the crew of Jones' ship began to laugh. In a matter of moments the crew of the Feenicks found themselves hauled helplessly into the merriment. As is typical, one finds adjoining laughter impossible to resist.

    As the afternoon crawled toward evening, the two ships and their exhausted crews lay silent on the silent sea. Only Feenicks remained unamused.

    All of a sudden Feenicks groaned, and the crew, including Captain Jones, jumped up and grabbed whatever was closest. Everyone still had in mind what had occurred a short time earlier, and waited for something to happen. The crew of the Ariel moved away from the rails. There is nobody more superstitious than a sailor.

    After a few moments, Brayman stood up, and for the first time, said something. "I don't think she likes being laughed at." Everyone looked up at the same time and gazed at Captain Jones.

    "Madame, please except my deepest apologies," the captain expressed with a deep bow and flourish. Everyone on both ships cheered. Jones drew himself to his full height and looked at Brayman.

    "My dear Captain, I certainly do hope you meant that."

    "Sir, I would never deceive a lady. To do so would bring dire circumstances."

    Brayman smiled for the first time. "I'm sure your victories at sea are at least equal to your victories on land."

    Jones laughed merrily, then cautiously patting the pin rail, mumbled, " No offense intended, Ma'am."

    Leslie stepped forward and stood directly in front of Captain Jones. "I believe you are owed an explanation," he began, "You have been more than patient, considering the circumstances. True, you have, for all intents, taken this ship in a manner befitting a true gentleman of the sea, but we would still request that you and your able crew release us and let us continue to evade our pursuers and make our way safely first to Gibraltar, where we intend to rest and provision our ship for the long voyage to the West Indies. From there, we intend to voyage to Philadelphia where we would like to find benefactors who would be kind enough to subsidize us as privateers. "Our hope is to become part of the new nation, America." Sweet ceased talking and waited for the obviously amazed Jones to digest what he had just heard.

    "Well, Mister Sweet, I would be obliged to know who your pursuers are."

    Sweet rubbed his chin and looked off toward the horizon. "Yes, I will tell you who our pursuers are, but first, would you consider putting your men at rest and joining me at the back of the boat for some refreshment?"

    "Back of the boat?" Jones inquired wondering why a captain of a British frigate would, under any circumstances, apply lubberly references to the stern of a ship.

    Missing the point completely, Sweet continued in his ignorant manner. "Yes, we should prefer the back because the front is too crowded."

    Jones considered the offer, turned to his ship and instructed Mister Rouseau to put the crew at rest.

    "But captain....."

    "No buts, Mister Rouseau," Captain Jones announced in an off-handed manner as he made his way aft with Sweet.

    "Yes Sir," grumbled Rouseau as he started bellowing orders to the crew.

    "Touchy people, the French, you know," Jones offered.

    "I find them remarkably enchanting and entertaining." Sweet added in a perfect form of French noted to be heard along the West Bank in the area of Notre Dame.

    Jones turned to Sweet and lifted his eyebrows. "There seems to be a lot to you Mister Sweet, but don't let the Americans find out you speak French. They will be more than delighted to make you a privateer, but they will, more than likely, give you a ship full of Rouseaus, and my kind sir, that would make your service most tedious." In the distance, Mister Rouseau, who, in no way, could have helped not overhearing his captain, pushed his hat back, threw his hands in the air, shrugged and walked away. Jones and Sweet continued to the "back of the boat".

 

3

 

Sept 29 Feenicks arrives in Gibralter; Cinnamon decides to jump ship, get out of the Secret Service and turn the officials against the ship; she tells them the ship is going to turn colors and join the Americans; they just barely get out; Admiral thinks result is OK for now; could be convincing for Americans if they hear about it.

 

4

 

Sept 30 Because of Grissom’s attack, the Admiralty acts on its own; Herhanden cannot do anything to stop the circumstances for fear of revealing the Secret Service; they put out warrants on whomever burned the town, stole a frigate and went to sea; Herhanden, is asked gives his findings: Cinnamon finds herself sent to India for a long time.

 

Oct GREAT HURRICANE IN WEST INDIES AND AMERICA

 

Oct 7 JPJ LEAVES FOR PHILADELPHIA IN ARIEL AND HITS STORM

 

Oct 9 Feenicks sails for Antiqua.

 

Nov 14 RODNEY TO ENGLAND; SHOULD HAVE TAKEN SHIPS IN NEWPORT

 

Dec 18 John Paul Jones LEAVES SUCCESSFULLY FOR AMERICA IN ARIEL

 

Dec 20 ENGLAND/HOLLAND AT WAR

 

Dec 24 Feenicks arrives in Antigua.

 

Dec 25 Feenicks meets Ezra who is victim of amnesia.

 

1781 comes.

 

March DE GRASSE TO WEST INDIES FROM BREST WITH CONVOY; HAS 26 SHIPS OF THE LINE

 

March 16 ARBETHNOT & DESTOUCHER OFF NORFOLK

 

March 30 Feenicks sails from Antiqua for America; Brayman leaves ship to return to England with next ship.

 

April 28 DE GRASSE AT MARTINIQUE; HOOD BLOCKADING

 

April 30 HOOD OUTWITS/OUTRUNS DE GRASSE AND JOINS RODNEY IN ANTIGUA

 

x

Feenicks arrives in Philadelphia, the capitol under the Articles of Confederation; twins, after going to lawyer are met by Miss Elizabeth Miles, 55, Prenter’s daughter by Dona Miles, 1726.

 

(end of manuscript)

 

---

 

Postscript

Words from a dying man

 

    It is time for me to die, and I am hastily penning in this last portion.  Tomorrow, I will be gone, but this story will remain.  I am hearing that there is a man aboard who will protect my work because he is a man of honor.  What force has brought this man to me?  Perhaps providence. Perhaps chance.  Regardless, I, and the twins must bring this container to the good captain and hope for the best.  We understand he is a friend of our cargo of people, worn by the sea, chased by fire and brought to this fine land by the hands God gave us.  We are truly a crew even though we know nothing of ships other than what we have gleaned from others and from our own experience.  I love the man known as Sweet, and I celebrate the impending birth of his daughter, Toot.  As of yet, neither mother nor father, nor godparents know the baby will be a girl, nor what her name will be, but I sense them to be what I subscribe and feel.  As I have sat on the shoulders of the characters you have met so far, I sat on the shoulder with the angel who will shortly deliver this information to her father’s ears.

    Please forgive me for my allowances and presumptions for I am but a messenger who can form what I sense into pictures for you to see.  It is essential that you, who read this manuscript, find another, who can write the continuing history of the Feenicks and her human cargo.  There are many seas to sail and many islands to visit.  There are lands of enchantment and hovering powers that cannot be explained by Man.  Clouds exist to rain upon those who venture into far seas, and adventures abound.  With these last words, I wish you all a fond farewell.

 

 

Signed, Robert Augustus Sleighton, on this fifth day of May, seventeen hundred and eighty one

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