Mackett's Origins Read online

Mackett’s Beginings

  David Willoughby

  Copyright 2011 David Willoughby

  We had sailed six long days from port on to the open seas hunting for our quarry. Our vessel, the Red Wraith, was a huge monstrosity better suited to shore bombardment than extended hunts for pirates on open waters.  The higher ups never pay attention to lowly gunner’s crewman however.  They wanted a boat as show of force and our Captain Fletcher had answered the call of duty. Our highly valued mission was to hunt down and sink the wretched vessel that hunted British vessels in these death infested waters. I didn’t care for our cause, I loaded cannons. They can shoot them at whoever they want.

  I sat on the deck scrapping and polishing the cannon at the bow of the ship. The single pursuit long nine was the only long-range gun aboard the vessel and the carronades to the sides took much less maintenance and skill to operate. I ran the gun with two other crew mates.

  “ Oy, Stapes, hop off the cannon for a bit. It won’t rust over a card game or two” a familiar Irish voice called out from the main deck. I looked up from my scrubbing and saw my two cannon mates Mackett and Williamson huddled around a munitions barrel. “You can polish that gun with a few less coins in your pocket. They might be weighing you down, let a friend… share your burden” he had the grin of life-time gambler.

  The two men had previously served on privateer vessels before being press-ganged in to service in his Majesties Navy. They were good men to work with, I looked away from my work and gazed up at the mid day sun. It couldn’t be much past noon. I could get in a game or two before I needed to have the cannon remounted for meal time. I tucked away my wash rags and cleaning tools. I secured them against high waves, more from habit than any feeling that this calm open sea might become violent. I had been a gunner for the king for many years and knew better than to let gear fly over board. I knew for a fact that Mackett and I would have the table run on us by Williamson but he never bet heavy and he always shared his good fortune. A few shared ales take the sting out of a good thrashing, especially if they are bought by the victor. At least then I know my money is going to a worthy cause.

  The card game was over quickly with me down several hands but I took my beating and scurried back to the cannons to finish my inspection before I had to remount the cannon. The forward gun was not always needed, but it was also the only gun that required a truly skilled crew. With a good pursuit gun crew you could cripple a boat rather than have to outrun it and when chasing pirate that was the preferred method. They rip out everything except for the hulls just to squeeze out every breath of the wind. Our forward gun was a beautiful long nine. The boys and I could load and fire the gun in under a minute when pressured. 

  I could feel the winds changing as I finished remounting the cannon. Mackett and Williamson came up and did the necessary tending to the munitions and made sure to detail the mounting and clean up the deck surrounding the cannon. Other crews hurried about mending there equipment and cleaning up their tools.

  When we finally cleaned up and got everything squared away Mackett and Williamson went over to swindle a pair of Royal Marines out of their earnings. I sat by the cannon and watched the waves. No matter how long a sailor stays at sea there is never a moment when you cannot appreciate the water for some facet of its beauty. The slow waves and the clean salt air was good for the lungs and was refreshing to breath. Many sailors stopped noticing it after a while but I grew up far from the coast. All I could smell back home was the belching smoke from the blacksmith and the burnt bread from the failing bakery. It was an unpleasant odor that stung the nose. It mixed terribly with natural smells of a farming town, the stench of cows and the thick air of sweat and labor. The salt air was clean and beautiful. I could only hope to give my life at sea. Better than to die sucking in that old rancid air.

  My revelry was broken by the all too familiar trumpet blast. A flat note blown by an untrained cabin boy, the tone didn’t matter. The sound had a meaning ingrained in the crew. I snapped to my feet and stood next to the perfectly remounted cannon as I watched others scramble about the deck doing final checks and some desperately finishing last minute chores. Every man posted at attention near their duty post as soon as they could. The entire crew stood patiently on the deck and the air was empty and still.

  The door to the captain’s quarters busted open as the captain kicked open the door. He took to the deck like an impending storm. The air around him seemed to crackle pure malevolent energy. Two small cabin boys followed behind him each one with a box. In one box there were mugs and in the other a collection of plates. The captain went up the starboard side of the ship first.  Every man he passed was given the task of showing there handy work for the day to the captain. This was done in silence. Each man he passed was given a mug and a plate if they passed inspection. These could in turn be brought below deck to be filled. Any man caught with a plate or mug after meal time was to be whipped and if all the plates and mugs were not returned then the entire crew went a day without food.

  Some of the crew members he passed were left without plates or mugs. Some he berated and some were merely left without being instructed to take a plate and mug. He strode around the deck deciding the fates of hard working bellies and finally worked his way up to the bow of the ship.

  “Well look at that Stapes, all cleaned and detailed, just like I want all of my cannons.” He said the last part with a shout that carried across the ship. Several gun crew hung their heads in anger and .shame. “Why if all my cannon crews were half as studious as you I bet I wouldn’t have to kill so many people.” He laughed a wicked laugh that showed a smile with too few teeth. Captain Percy looked back at the ship with a crushing gaze that seemed to oppress the very ship it’s self. He squared up on Mackett and Williamson. “You two, it must be nice takin money off of my Marines. Is it nice?” He grinned waiting for a response.

  Williamson looked embarrassed but Mackett was not one to be cowed by such a display. “It is a very pleasant way to pass time at sea. Maybe you should sit in for a game.” He asked with all the kindness of a snake.

  “I’d rather be bitten by mad dogs than ta be seen playing cards with crew men, Mackett. Don’t ye go forgetten yer station.” Percy’s face took on a gross mockery of pride and elegance. He motioned the two boys forward and Mackett and Williamson took their goods. Percy motioned for me to do the same.

  The plates were made of metal, not ceramic or other finery. The mugs were simple metal canisters with handles roughly melted on. It was not exactly like eating at a fine inn, but it was better than many stations in the Royal Navy.

  He continued his trip around the ship this time working his way around the port side and towards the helm. He watched the sailors and let them take plates and mugs as he saw fit. He came to one carronade that I could tell from here had been neglected since its last firing. It only took one man to keep the carronades up and running, and one didn’t necessarily have to be well trained or clever to work it out. The man at that cannon looked anything but clever. He stood there still as a tree when the captain got to him.  The only thing that betrayed that he wasn’t a stone was the occasional weave he did as he kept his balance on the deck. He might not be a rock but he was stone drunk, I figured to myself.

  The Captain maintained a calm expression. “I am not a cannon master, I deal mostly in navigation, but I have seen a few cannons in my twenty somethin years at sea. I am not sure if this cannon is “inspection ready”. I will have to defer to your expertise on the matter gun-man.” He waited silently for a response. He received none from the drunken crewman. The Captains face turned a dark red. “Is this cannon ready for inspection?” He shouted the words furiously in to the sailors face. The sailor looked stupidly down at the
cannon and almost fell over. He made the fatal mistake of grabbing on to the Captain for support. With one clean swipe the Captain knocked the man to the ground and had his cutlass out and aimed at the man’s chest.

  With a seconds hesitation he sheathed the blade. The Captain looked around the ship. “I know exactly how to cure this man’s drunkenness. Anybody care to help the poor soul.” His evil smile belayed his true intentions. He took a coiled rope from the deck and slowly paced the ship, delivering a kick to the drunken sailor. He tied a large noose knot almost absent mindedly as he surveyed the rest of the ship. He made his way back to the front of the vessel.

  He casually