Allison; Taking Control

Chapter 8

Holding her southerly course, HMS Philadelphia soon found herself once again beneath clear skies with her decks awash in bright sunlight. It wasn’t quite as warm as one might have liked since autumn was upon them, but the weather was more than fair and the voyage would not in any way be impeded.

Bright though the decks were on that sunny day, some of the crew applied themselves to enhancing that effect, scrubbing them down with holystones. The ship’s carpenter, Stanwill, and his mates were making a thorough inspection of supports, frames and seams down below to ensure the ship had made it through her first storm at sea without taking too much strain. A distinctive clanking noise could be heard from below as a few men were once again working at the pumps, expelling seawater from the bilges. Still others were at work stitching and preparing new lengths of canvas for whenever they might be needed. Altogether, things aboard Philadelphia were running in clockwork fashion.

From a personal standpoint, however, her captain didn’t feel that way. He had an excellent crew with highly experienced warrant officers of great quality, but he began to see the relative inexperience of his officers and midshipmen as more and more of a problem - his problem. It continued to occupy Allison ’s mind since speaking with Washburn on the middle watch that night. Young boys like Hardin definitely needed seasoning; certainly midshipmen were expected to be raw, at least at first. But when his sailing master could nearly count more years of sea experience than all of the officers combined, the thought gave him pause. They were talented, no doubt, but it was up to him to make sure every soul aboard was prepared to face any eventuality. Given those facts, he certainly couldn’t give the crew the slightest hint that he felt any officer was deficient or lacking, so he contrived to mask his concerns in the form of ship-wide exercises. It was with this in mind that he had called Vosley, the master gunner, to the quarterdeck.

“I understand Mr. Vosley, and I have great respect for your knowledge in these matters, but more work is needed,” Allison was explaining.

Stubble-cheeked and swarthy, Vosley was a man perhaps ten to a dozen years older than Allison who had been around weapons of all kinds during his years in the Navy. Eighteen-pounder to small-caliber pistol, mortar shell to hand grenade, it seemed this strong wiry man could describe and use them all.

“The times we managed the last exercise were quite good, seh,” Vosley offered. “The First Lieutenant an’ Mr. James both says so. From the point where the lads were swabbin’ out to where the guns were run out and ready... beggin’ your pardon, seh... but I rarely seen better – and all of it done wi’out a single powder boy aboard to run to the magazine.”

“No doubt, gunner,” Allison answered, “though excellence, once attained, must also be maintained. I would like to see the performance we had during the exercises just before the storm repeated.”

Vosley made no further protestations and with an “Aye aye, sir” tipped his hat and moved off to make sure his guns and men were ready.

Allison would normally have called the First Lieutenant to the quarterdeck or made the officer of the watch aware of his intent to have an exercise at the guns, but he decided he’d allow it to slip his mind this time around.

“BEAT TO QUARTERS!” Allison bellowed in as loud a voice as he could. The marine drummer began his booming roll and hands who had been scrubbing, turning the pump brake, sewing or fixing seams, leaped into action amid shouts and perhaps even a bit of confusion. Heavily engaged in other activities, with much of the leadership uninformed or unprepared, the crew likely wouldn’t replicate those exemplary firing times from the last drill.

Allison walked to the taffrail and turned to look aft so as to hide the smirk he couldn’t help but allow to form on his face. He knew Vosley hadn’t had near enough time to warn the mates and petty officers what was coming. In fact, most of the crew would be in some state of disorganization. That was well and good since trouble rarely occurred during opportune times. Everyone, officers and crew alike, would need to be able to deal with surprises. Given his own experiences thus far, Allison had every reason to believe many more surprises were coming. Much like one particular shock he remembered from his recent past, more than a few would be far from pleasant...

Allison recalled sitting there in that tavern all but frozen solid with stupefaction. What else could the Major be implying? He was going to be a spy and that was an occupation infinitely more dangerous than anything he had done before. True, a ship’s crew might indeed be in a perilous situation when it came to battle. With nothing but oaken decks and hulls standing between them and the cruel, merciless, ineffable depths of the sea, the destruction of a ship promised a frighteningly slow, lonely, and agonizing death at the hands of the briny deep. What’s more, that was only true if one managed to not get torn to pieces by enemy shot or fed upon by sharks.

Even so, a crew worked together as one. There was discipline, cooperation, trust, leadership, and camaraderie. Crewmembers had others to help motivate and guide them. It was hard, but they helped one another survive. A spy had to work on his own, often with nothing but his wits and maybe a pistol or two as companions. Such people were nameless, faceless wraiths who hid in shadow and feared the light for possibility of discovery or capture – and Allison knew as well as anyone else what happened to captured spies! Everyone from rogues to royalty knew they existed. Almost every nation employed them for a variety of different purposes; and almost everyone held them in extreme contempt for committing actions which were all but universally considered dishonorable.

“Sir, you’re telling me I am to be a ...” Allison stopped and leaned over the table, lowering his voice to the slightest of whispers so as to ensure none of the tavern patrons would hear that terrible word. “Spy?”

Maxwell’s face became extremely stern and he, in turn, leaned forward to lend gravity to his words. Despite also having lowered his voice for obvious reasons, the displeasure that could be read in Maxwell’s dark eyes was palpable.

“Lieutenant, I’ll thank you to never use that word again in my hearing! What’s more, for your own benefit, I would never use it again in such a manner as it could be applied to yourself!” He straightened up in his seat and looked around the tavern room as if to assure himself no one had made note of what had just been said by either of them, then continued. “At any rate, what we have planned for you is nothing even remotely so base and vile.”

We?! Allison could only guess that this plurality included the mysterious “H” who had written him the letter.

The Major went on, “Rest assured, Mr. Allison , that you will be expected to remain an upstanding and properly uniformed officer in His Majesty’s Navy.”

Allison , for his part, no longer knew exactly what to think or believe. He had been sent here for further instructions and, instead of enlightenment, he had found only more questions. He was no closer to understanding what all of this was about. If he wasn’t to be a spy, then just what would he do? Maxwell went on before he could say anything.

“Here,” he said sliding the envelope that was in front of him across the table to Allison . “Read it at your leisure, though it would of course be greatly to your advantage if you read it before reaching Philadelphia.”

With all that had transpired so far, Allison had almost forgotten about that city being his final destination. He took the envelope, which bore an Admiralty seal just like the one he had obtained in the carriage, and tucked it inside his coat.

Maxwell took yet another of his mysterious glances out the window and still presumably did not see what he was waiting for. He now leaned forward with his elbows on the table and his hands steepled in front of his lips. His eyes went to the paper that he still had in front of him and then returned to Allison and narrowed as though he was making some kind of assessment regarding his fellow officer. Allison couldn’t help but think about how that appraising look reminded him of the similar stare he had endured from Captain Wilson when this entire state of affairs began.

That paper, which seemed to figure prominently into Maxwell’s present thoughts, had previously been folded over several times as Allison could tell by the collection of creases running perpendicular to one another over its surface. If it had any writing on it, which he presumed it must, it was on the reverse side.

Now picking the sheet up and looking at the side which had been face down, the Major at last spoke again. “I have something here which may interest you, and which I believe will prove very... illustrative.”

In the very short time he had been speaking with this man, Allison managed to learn that when he finished a statement with that kind of emphasis, it did not signify something encouraging. He felt a twinge of apprehension as Maxwell handed him the paper and bade him read it. That feeling changed into full-blown chills when he saw what it was. He held in his hand what appeared to be a quickly transcribed but legibly written copy of the very letter he had picked up and opened in the coach on the first day of this adventure!

“I... I don’t understand,” was the only response Allison could muster.

“Then allow me to enlighten you, Lieutenant!” Maxwell began with condescending cruelty. “You allowed a secret document, which you were supposed to destroy, to fall into the hands of an enemy agent!”

Allison was suddenly able to rally and mount a defense. “Sir, I protest! The document in question was destroyed per instructions and was never out of my personal possession since the moment I received it!”

There were fewer people in the tavern now as the hour grew late, and as the ambient conversation of other patrons became less voluble, the heated exchange between the two was noticed by several others. Major Maxwell was insisting that they now take this discussion elsewhere when he looked out the window one more time and finally saw what he had been waiting for. His eyes brightened and his face bore an open-mouthed smile, but Allison saw nothing save sarcasm and scorn in that expression.

“Ah! Mr. Allison , I believe I can show you something else which will prove the validity of my previous statement.” The Major stood, picked up the previously untouched whiskey glass and drained it in one gulp. He reclaimed his hat, pulled the terrible document out of Allison ’s grasp and started to make for the door but suddenly stopped next to him. As Allison still sat there, he clamped a heavy hand down on his right shoulder and looked down at him.