The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [301]
‘Are they all New Forest oaks?’ asked Fanny.
‘No, Miss Albion. This’ – he indicated the surrounding Forest – ‘is our first timber yard. But we go further afield. Nor are ships made only of oak. The keel is made of elm, the ships’ wall planks are beech. For the masts and spars we use fir. Come, let me show you.’
On the largest slipway, a big man-of-war stood almost ready for launching.
‘That’s Cerberus,’ announced Mr Adams. ‘Thirty-two guns, almost eight hundred tons. The biggest battleships are only forty feet longer, although they have double the tonnage. She’ll launch in September and be towed along the coast to Portsmouth for fitting in the naval dockyards there. The smaller ship we have started work on beside her is a merchant ship, bound for the West Indies trade. She’ll complete next year. The little fellow in the third dock is a fifty-ton lighter for the Navy. As you see, we’ve just got the keel down, whereas for the merchant vessel we have the whole frame completed.’
‘Do you build the great battleships too?’ Fanny asked.
‘Yes, Miss Albion, but only once in a while. The biggest we built was Illustrious, five years ago. A seventy-four-gun monster. The finest ship I think we ever made was a sixty-four-gun called Agamemnon.’ He smiled. ‘The ’Am an’ Eggs, the sailors call her.’
‘And do you follow their progress after they leave the yard?’
‘We try to. Agamemnon, for instance, has just been placed under a new commander. A captain called Horatio Nelson.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’d ever heard of him.’ He glanced around. Nor had anyone else. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘would you like to enter Cerberus?’
Puckle was alone between decks. A moment ago there had been the sound of hammering from above as the last planks of the deck were being fastened; but now, for some reason, the noise had ceased and the ship had fallen silent.
How cavernous it seemed in the sudden quiet, with the light coming in through the empty squares of the gunports. There was nothing between the decks except the occasional supporting posts: no partitions, no guns, no galley equipment, no hammocks or ropes or casks. Everything beyond the empty shell of the ship would be fitted at Portsmouth. All he could see was wood: wooden deck, wooden walls, stretching away for a hundred feet, the grain of the timber visible in the soft light, the scent of the planking, and of the pitch used to seal it, sharp in his nostrils; and in the corners, where the deck heads met the hull, the angle brackets made of the knees of oak as though the decks above his head were not made of planks but a spreading canopy of branches forming natural layers within the silent echo of the ship.
Then he heard footsteps and down the ladder from the deck above came Mr Adams with the party of guests.
How curious the fellow looked, Martell thought, with his stooped shoulders, his shaggy brown hair and oaken face. One by one the party descended the ladder and looked at him.
Mr Adams came last and gave him a curt nod. ‘This man’s name is Puckle,’ he told them. ‘He’s been with us, it must be fifteen years.’
‘Seventeen, Sir,’ Puckle corrected.
‘Puckle.’ Edward laughed. ‘Funny name.’
‘It’s a good old Forest name,’ said Fanny at once, thinking her cousin sounded rude. ‘There have been Puckles in the Forest as long as Albions, I’m sure. Over at Burley mostly, isn’t it?’ she asked Puckle with a friendly smile.
‘That’s right.’ Puckle knew who the Albion girl was and she met with his approval. She belonged.
The Tottons were still gazing at Puckle with amusement, as though he were a curiosity. Martell was looking around, noting the way the deck and hull were joined. Mr Gilpin was apparently meditating.
‘Down here.’ Fanny hesitated because she wasn’t quite sure what she meant. ‘It has such a strange feeling.’ She looked at the others, who didn’t seem very interested, then