A Sea Unto Itself by Jay Worrall Page A

from his last commission?” Charles asked. He was dismayed by this, but not entirely surprised.
    “No, sir. Not a bit of it. And now them’s sayin’ yer to sea again afore it can be done. I’m at my wit’s end, and t’other wives what have families too. What shall become of us?” This last came in a choke of desperation. Charles turned to Bevan. “Is this true? The men haven’t been paid?”
    The lieutenant nodded. “I’ve been to the clerk of the cheque, twice. They weren’t helpful.”
    Charles thought it scandalous how the navy sometimes treated its seamen. The annual allocation from parliament was never sufficient to cover costs, and the answer was to push payment of the men’s salaries further and further into the indefinite future whenever they could. After all, the crews were kept on board under conditions approaching imprisonment, and flogging was always available to keep them in line. It was a wonder that mutinies were not more common than they were. He looked down into the waist and saw that a sizable crowd of men had gathered, glaring up at him defiantly. The woman had begun sobbing into her hands. Charles felt embarrassed for all their sakes. “There, there now, Missus . . . Missus . . . .” he said.
    “Twilly,” Bevan prompted.
    “Mrs. Twilly, I will look into this personally to see what can be done. I promise you that we shall not leave Chatham before the men are paid. I give you my word on it.”
    Mrs. Twilly looked up with a crooked, red-eyed smile. “Thank you, sir; thank you,” she burbled, taking his hands and kissing them in her gratitude.
    “You’re welcome,” Charles said, awkwardly attempting to pull himself free. “Now if you will . . .”
    “Could ye also find it in yer heart to give my Tom leave to come home?" she said more boldly. “It’d be for just a week. He ain’t seen his little ones in near four year, the youngest he ain’t seen never.”
    Charles extricated his hands. “No, I can’t, Mrs. Twilly. I’m sorry. Now you must go back down. You may tell Tom that he will receive his pay as soon as I can arrange it.” He turned the woman by her shoulders and guided her back to the ladderway. When she was safely on the other side of the sentry he took a deep breath and turned back. “What the hell is going on, Daniel?”
    “We have an unhappy crew,” Bevan answered. “It’s not exactly a mutiny, but they’ve made it clear they won’t work or allow us to sail unless their grievances are met. I haven’t informed anyone in the dockyard yet of our situation. I thought it best to keep it under my hat until you arrived.”
    “I appreciate that,” Charles said. “There must be some way to fix this. I’d be angry myself if I weren’t paid.”
    “It’s not just that, there’s more.”
    “About leave to go home, you mean?” Charles said. “You know that we can’t do that; none of them would come back.”
    Bevan shook his head. “You’ve heard of Captain Edward Bittington?”
    “I think I read he’s recently been given a seventy-four,” Charles said, wondering at the connection.
    “May god help one and all who serve under him. He did not transfer his old crew to his new command when he moved on. We’ve been given them. He’d striped almost all their backs more than once over the past couple of years. Captain Bittington is one of those officers who considers himself a strict disciplinarian.”
    Charles had a sinking feeling. “How bad is it?”
    “Worse than you might imagine. They had been at sea without a break for nearly three years. I feel badly for the poor buggers. Most of them tried to jump ship as soon as they came aboard. I’ve put a stop to that with the marines.”
    Charles’ unease turned to anger. The last thing he wanted was to embark on a long cruise with a crew full with pent up hostility from probably justifiable grievances. The fact that they had been abused by a captain too free with the cat was bad enough. That they had been