Read His Majesty's Ship for Free Online

sunshine.
           While at anchor the purser had been provisioning the ship under “Peter Warren”, or petty warrant victuals, sending to the shore for fresh meat and vegetables, so as to conserve his precious store of preserved food. Now he pored over his lists, making certain he had just enough of everything to keep the ship at sea, and not an ounce more. Pursers paid a personal bond of up to twelve hundred pounds to assure the value of the goods they requisitioned. It was up to each to see that this was done as economically as possible, as any money outstanding would go straight into their pocket. They could benefit from their position in other ways; by seeing that meat was issued at fourteen ounces to the pound (officially to allow for wastage, of which there was notoriously little), and make a handsome commission from the halfpenny per man, per day, they were allowed for turnery ware. The purser also ran the only shop permitted on board, and gained from the sale of clothing and equipment, as well as small luxuries such as tobacco and raisins. Because of his somewhat capitalistic approach most members of the crew, officers as well as men, treated the purser with caution, suspecting him of the most devilish schemes to rob them of their due, and in the main they were right.
           The purser was now in front of Matthew who was the last to be rated, and read in.
           “Listing you as a boy, are they?” the older man said.
           Matthew nodded.
           “Speak up!” The marine sergeant was almost finished with the new recruits and had other matters to concern him. “You'll get nothing in this ship for staying quiet!”
           “Yes, sir.” his stammer must have been noticed by the rating board, although no comment had been made about it.
           “Make your mark there, laddie,” Morrison continued, indicating a space below a column of smudges, symbols and the occasional signature. “You have the number seven hundred an' sixty-nine, Think ye can be remembering that, do ye?”
           Matthew nodded, before hurriedly stammering out a confirmation.
           “Who will ta'e the lad?” The purser looked to his steward, who consulted the watch bill.
           “Fletcher's mess is light two men, but they already got a boy. What about Flint, he's taken Crehan?”
           “Aye, Flint will do, send the lad down.”
           Matthew felt himself pushed away towards the large staircase that led below. The Irishman was directly in front, and as they trooped down into the depths of the ship, he turned to the boy.
           “Sharing the same mess, so we are,” even in the half light the man's expression was unmistakeably filled with menace. “Now isn't that a wonderful piece o'luck?”  
     
    *****
     
           “Mess subscription's a guinea a week, paid one month in advance.” Carling, the captain of marines, had a neutral face that seldom bore more than the most rudimentary of expressions. It was blank now as he addressed Rogers, although he had already made his mind up about the new officer.
           “Sounds fair,” said Rogers, reaching into his purse and handing over four gold coins. “What, pray, do we get for our consideration?”
           “The mess subscribes to additional wine and cheese, plus fresh vegetables and meat when we can get them. We have nine laying hens, a goat, a sheep and two pigs, one about to produce. We also take a copy of the Naval Gazette , in addition to a newssheet or paper every day we are in an English harbour.”
           Rogers nodded, his face equally bland. “No cow?”
           “No cow.” Carling did not explain that the majority of the officers found it hard to find the guinea a week which was more than half their earnings.
           “I may wish to purchase a cow,” Rogers said evenly. “Never could stomach the taste of goat's milk.”
           “That's