“Here are two new powder-monkeys for the gunners’ crews, mates. I remember when that eighteen-pounder exploded in the Bulldog. The gun crew disappeared, we found little pieces of them blowed t’other side of the gundecks, we did.”
“There was my old mate, Sam Polly. He was no taller than the two of you youngsters, and he said the cannonballs would go over’ im, but lor’ if one didn’t take his head clean off, right above the ears!”
“Better a clean death than having both your legs off with grapeshot, I say. Then comes the sawbones to finish the job.”
“Here, here, chaps, this is all very interesting,” Gibson’s calm, pleasant voice rang out in the darkness. “Tell me about it, I am a true landlubber. How long shall we be kept in confinement? I have never been pressed before.”
A chorus of groans went up in the darkness. “Oh, devil spare us. A landsman.”
“We’ll be put before the ratings committee,” a raspy voice issuing from about Gibson’s left elbow explained. “You’ll give your name –”
“Or some other name –” put in another, which brought some harsh laughter from some of the men.
“—and you’ll be rated as a landsman, see, and most of us are able seaman. We’ll be paid more because we’ve got tar on our hands, see? Then we will each be assigned somewheres.”
“We are not to serve on this ship, then?”
“This is just a transport ship.”
“I heard the Agincourt is a victualling ship, going to the African coast,” another voice chimed in.
“G-d help us. I’d rather fight the stinking Frenchies than face those mosquitoes again.”
“Why are they sending us to fight the mosquitoes?,” asked a laughing voice. “Not that the bastards don’t deserve it.”
“Not mosquitoes, you blockhead, it’s to stop the slave ships leaving Africa.”
“Piss on that. I want my bonus money for fighting Jack Crapaud.”
“That’s all you know. The Navy is paying a fat bonus for every slave that’s rescued, see, and every slave ship that’s captured.”
“Will they pay my wife a bonus if she comes to rescue me? I do appear to be held against my will.”
More bleak laughter.
Through patient enquiry, Gibson learned that some of the men were merchant seaman, newly arrived back in England after months or years at sea, and snatched up for service in His Majesty’s Navy, sometimes within sight of their long yearned-for homes. Some were fisherman, some were drunkards, some were harbour toughs he would have crossed the street to avoid back in Bristol, and all could speak to each other in a language, or using terms and expressions, he could not begin to understand. Finally, he leaned back against a barrel and softly recited to himself:
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn’d.
No: dear as freedom is—and in my heart’s
Just estimation priz’d above all price—
I had much rather be myself the slave,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no Slaves at home—
“Here—you’re a gentleman, aren’t you?” asked the raspy voice at his elbow. “You’re scot free, my lad. When they start asking you questions, answer them in Latin or Greek like that, see. They’ll have to let you go.”
“And if they do not?”
“Then, you’re off to boil your brains in Africa, my boy. Or the West Indies. Or maybe freezing your arse off near Copenhagen.”
The grating was briefly lifted while a keg of water and some ship’s biscuit was lowered down, then a handsome young man, who Gibson recognized as being the young lieutenant on the launch, peered down at them.
“Lads, I don’t wonder that you want to kick at your fate,” said William cheerfully, looking down at the glowering men packed below. “But consider—you will see the world, and the rate of pay is better than you will get ashore, and the prospect of prize money for all. So if you sign up and volunteer, you will receive the joining bonus.”
“Shove your bonus up your arse, my little captain’s pet,” snarled one of the pressed men under his breath, following up with a vulgar reference about what he could do to the young lieutenant if he could corner him, which caused Mr. Gibson, out of an abundance of caution, to move a little away from the grumbler. But it seemed the young lieutenant was quick-eared.
“You will address me as Mr. Price. And I have served in His Majesty’s Navy since my twelfth year and have eluded more nimble fellows than you. I am second lieutenant of His Majesty’s frigate Solebay, assigned to the West African Squadron, whither perhaps some of you are bound, along with me.” The grating slammed down again and Gibson wondered—Price? Fanny spoke of a brother in the Navy, but he was a midshipman, as I recall, in Gibraltar. He closed his eyes and tried to get some rest, but the foul, close air was sorely trying.
* * * * * *
After dinner, peace and calm descended upon the Price household as all of its male members were abroad, and Fanny sat sewing with her mother and Susan, helping to get William’s shirts and linen ready. Although Fanny had not been amongst her family for many years, she was not an object of curiosity or solicitude for her mother, a fact that both surprised and grieved her but to which she could do nothing but resign herself. Mrs. Price had no questions for her long-absent daughter even about the doings of her sister Bertram. Only Susan showed some curiosity about life at Mansfield Park, and how Fanny’s life there differed from the family she had left behind. She asked Fanny about the kitchens at
