Looking out from the first floor window
the Three Kings, Horatio Nelson was reminded of
many of the reasons why he disliked Deal.
There was the anchorage itself, bound
by the shore and the treachery of the Goodwin Sands,
crowded with the ships of the most selfish breed of
men it had ever been his misfortune to meet the
merchant captains who grew rich from a maritime trade
only made possible by the protection of a Royal Navy
they openly derided. He could recall being bound to
his ship for weeks out on that unfortunate stretch of
water once for a whole fortnight embayed
by a surf so violent that going ashore was impossible.
Every time he went to sea he was sick, a curse that
usually eased in time, but on this station, the Downs,
half his life was spent ashore so forever embarking
and disembarking his flagship, he never got free of
the affliction, and he looked with loathing at the cold
grey sea lapping and hissing against the stone beach.
The breakers were driven ashore by an icy East wind
that nothing could keep out of his room it was
as if the Baltic Sea, where he had so recently won his
Copenhagen victory, was sending its worst to chastise
him for trouncing the Danes. If it was, then that chimed
with the way he had been treated by his superiors, who
almost seemed embarrassed that victory had been achieved.
Despite the fire blazing in the hearth his fingers,
as they clutched the quill, felt numb and his body chilled,
while his head was fuzzy from the cold he seemed unable
to shake. But there was no release from the endless
paperwork of an Admiral in active service. Every ounce
of stores, powder, shot, sails and nails, had to be
accounted for, every sailor had to be fed and watered,
each numbered barrel of pork or beef, every cask of
small beer or rum, tallied up for to the penny pinching
clerks of the Navy Board. And when the reports of the
captains came in, it fell to the admiral to pass them.
Nelson had other reasons for gloom; the command he
had in the Downs was a backwater, not to his taste when
the possibility existed for a telling stroke was so
limited. Bombarding Boulogne or Calais hardly counted
against a fleet against fleet action at sea for the
nations premier fighting sailor it was
measure of the vanity he knew he was subject to that
he could hold such a thought without blush and
such actions as he had undertaken had been limited in
their success and heavy in the butchers bill,
with the naval hospital still full of those wounded
who had not succumbed.
The cold increased as darkness fell, the wind picking
up on the rising tide to created banshee screams as
it whistled through the rigging of the inshore vessels.
Lights appeared in a thousand cabins, with lanterns
lit on every stern, which when it was fully dark made
magic what had been mundane a sea of light points
to contrast with the stars that twinkled in the clear
night sky.
As the mantle clock struck eight, Nelson felt a wave
of relief- it was time to abandon his chores and go
about a more pleasing business. His servant, who knew
very well what he was about, fetched his cloak and hat,
then opened the door to let him out, well aware that
there was a spring in the little admirals step.
Hat pulled low he made his way through the lobby of
the Inn, certain that his passing was discreet, unaware
of the nods and winks of everyone who saw him pass.
Deal was as crowded as ever how could it be
otherwise when every ship passing up to London, to save
money on wages, disgorged sailors here. Tars with coin,
ashore for the first time in months, attracted hucksters
and crimps in abundance, but they were dwarfed in number
by the whores some near children, others toothless
grandmothers that teemed in the narrow streets
and plied the physical part of the bargain they struck
in the tiny alleyways that led from one to the other.
Nelson was no stranger to debauchery; how could he
be when he had served aboard line of battle ships at
anchor, and strode along decks full of singing, dancing,
gambling and open, unblushing copulation. Yet somehow
the sheer depravity of Deal outweighed anything he had
ever experienced, and that included the fleshpots of
India. No vice was excluded, and each building full
of drunks of both sexes testified to the fact that women
not selling themselves had found another way to separate
sailors from their money. The right was afforded to
any naval widow to sell spirituous liquor, thus every
second parlour was a tavern, and that was multiplied
by the music halls and pot houses that lined both sides
of the dingy filth strewn thoroughfare known as Middle
Street.
The relief of shutting the door behind this licentious
pandemonium was palpable, the sight of Emmas beautiful
face enough on its own to banish most of the woes in
both health and the cares that assailed him. Spending
so much time apart, and being so deeply in love, left
little room for conversation no more than an
affectionate exchange of names before they embraced.
Nelsons cloak fell to the floor, soon to be joined
by his hat and heavy broadcloth coat. Emma undid his
necktie and shirt, as she always did, for a one armed
man needed help, and hauled it over his head. Her warm
hands produced that frisson of electricity that ever
attended her attentions as, still kissing, she edged
him over to the low chaise, his cold hand bring forth
a shudder as he fondled skin exposed by the slipping
off of her dressing gown. He had to step back, had to
let the flickering firelight play across her fulsome
body. Here she was, the mother of his child, sitting
him down so that she could remove his shoes stocking
and breeches, leaning forward to excite him with an
intimacy that only she had ever performed.
Outside, Deal life went on noisy, nefarious,
dedicated to pleasures legal and not. Inside the small
terraced cottage Horatio Nelson made love to his lady,
for the first time that day feeling warm in his body,
and warmth towards the town of Deal. In the midst of
so much dissipation, the town allowed for this, away
from the prying eyes of censorious society, a tryst
with the woman he adored.
©2006 DEAL today
magazine
|