Girl on the Orlop Deck (5 page)

He couldn’t understand how all this had come about. Nobody joined the navy on their wedding day. It was unheard of and it didn’t make sense, especially to him, for he’d got himself a good job and a room to live in and he’d made all the furniture for it. He was set up. But he knew he must have signed papers and been enlisted or he wouldn’t have been brought aboard and be sailing into a sea fight now – if that was what they were doing. He was sure Tom Kettle was at the back of it even though he had no recollection of anything between being plied with rum in The Dolphin and the moment when he was woken, tight as a tick and drenched with water. He struggled to remember more until his brain was aching and in the end he gave up. It was no good thinking. He was here, he had food in his belly and a job to do, and he’d be paid at the end of it, royally so Tom Kettle had said. He did remember that. In any case, he could hardly walk away from it and swim home, even if he wanted to. As the yarn went on and the laughter grew more raucous, his thoughts became more and more muddled and, after a while, he found himself wondering what would become of Marianne without a husband to support her and pay the rent. She’d treated him very badly, there was no doubt about that, but he couldn’t help feeling responsible for her. When all was said and done she was his wife, no matter how badly she’d behaved. She’ll go home to her father I daresay, he thought, trying to ease his conscience. She’ll be looked after there. And for a moment he pictured her, sitting by the fire in that crowded kitchen, helping her mother with the mending, the way he’d seen her when he first came visiting, that thick hair escaping from her cap, her face scowling with concentration, her hands busy.

In fact, that thick hair was swinging behind her in a long fat plait, and her hands were as busy as they’d ever been, but she wasn’t sewing and she wasn’t scowling, she was climbing the rigging of His Majesty’s Ship
Amphion
, buffeted by the wind so far aloft, soaked by a brief shower of rain and enjoying it hugely. The
Amphion
had lain at anchor in St Helen’s for the last twenty-four hours waiting for Admiral Lord Nelson to make some decision or other, and now the decision had been made and they
were under sailing orders and Marianne had been sent aloft with the other boys to unfurl the mainsail. If she looked down she could see the captain on the quarter-deck looking very grand in his splendid uniform with his epaulettes glinting like stars. And there was the
Victory
with Admiral Nelson’s flag flying from the mainmast. This is more like it, she thought. Now we can sail off to the nearest port and I can start my search.

A strong north wind blew them south into the Channel; there were several more squalls of rain; the distant coast looked grey and foreign and, for a day at the end of May, it was unseasonably cold. She was quite glad when eight bells sounded and it was time for a bit of warming grub, which was peas and plum duff and very tasty, although the grog still made her head spin.

‘En’t got yer sea-legs yet, have ’ee my hearty?’ Johnny Galley said, as she staggered from the table.

‘Never mind legs, Johnny Galley,’ she told him. ‘’Tis your grog what’s knocking me sideways.’

At which her messmates gave a roar of delighted laughter and the nearest thumped her on the back. ‘Wait till we gets to the Bay a’ Biscay,’ he warned, grinning and showing a mouthful of brown teeth. ‘That’ll knock the legs from under yer.’

She didn’t like the sound of that at all, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him know it and answered him back boldly. ‘That’ll take more than some ol’ sea to knock me off my feet, I can tell ’ee.’ At which she was applauded and thumped between the shoulder blades again until her back was quite sore.

When she was woken for her next watch, the English coast had
disappeared
and they were on their own in a grey pitching sea with storm clouds louring overhead and no sign of land or life.

‘Is this the Bay a’ Biscay?’ she asked her messmates, when the morning chores had been done and they were sitting about their table sustaining themselves with steaming bowls of skillygalee.

‘Lord love yer, boy,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘It’ll be three, four days afore you sets eyes on that. We’m still in the Channel, my sonny, onny on the French side, which is to loo’ard, d’you see, where we’m blockading the beggars. We’m headin’ for Brest this time, to meet up with the Channel Fleet.’

One of the other ship’s boys instantly set about enlightening her further, counting off the beleaguered ports on his fingers, ‘We got ’em
penned in all along the Channel,’ he told her. ‘Boulogne, Dieppe, Cherbourg, Brest, Lorient.’

‘Stow it, clever-clogs,’ Johnny Galley said, cuffing him about the ear. ‘We knows you knows. You won’t look so clever come the Bay a’ Biscay, let me tell ’ee. You’ll be hanging over the gunnels with the rest of us then.’

If he’s trying to worry us, Marianne thought, he’s making a good job of it. She didn’t like the sound of hanging over the gunnels at all. ‘Are we joining the blockade then?’ she asked.

‘No, my lubber,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘We’m to meet up with Admiral Cornwallis by the Black Rocks, what’s the admiral of the Channel Fleet.’

By now Marianne could see that this man liked to be the purveyor of information aboard and would take as many questions as she liked to ask, so she asked the next and obvious one. ‘Where’s the Black Rocks, Mr Galley?’

‘West-north-west of Brest, my lubber. Where else would they be?’

They rose out of a heaving sea, black as their name and looking
decidedly
treacherous. But there was no sign of a fleet or a flagship, and no sign of a port, nothing but a single frigate with all sails furled, rocking on the swell and waiting for them.

‘
Sirius
is that,’ Johnny Galley told Marianne, when she and the other boys climbed down onto the deck again after reefing their own sails. ‘I sailed on her one time. She belongs to the Channel Fleet. Been left here with news for Admiral Nelson, I shouldn’t wonder, although they did say we was to be meetin’ with Admiral Cornwallis.’

The
Amphion
creaked and rocked as the rest of the fleet gathered and waited. The rocks glistened in the rising sun. Small waves slapped against their bows, spinning droplets of white spray across their newly scrubbed deck. A brazen pathway widened across the dark water. And presently a longboat put out from the frigate and was rowed across to the
Victory
, where her captain was piped aboard. Then another headed that way, and another, as the captains gathered, and the last of them was their own Captain Hardy, who set off with a highly satisfied expression on his face, doffing his hat to his watching crew.

‘Now they’ll talk,’ Johnny Galley said, ‘and then we shall know where we’m to go next, I daresay.’ Six bells was ringing. There was no more time for leaning over the gunnels and watching the fleet. ‘No peace for
the wicked,’ he said, grimacing at Marianne. ‘There’s work to be done, my lubber.’

She supposed that there was and knew she would have to do it, although she would have preferred to stay where she was and go on watching. There was always the hope that one or other of the ships would drift close enough for her to see the faces of the men on board. Jem could be out there, riding the selfsame waves as she was, or rowing one of the captains out to the
Victory
. And how would she know if she couldn’t see him? It was very frustrating. But you’m at sea now, she told herself, an’ you’ll have to do as you’m told an’ put up with it.  

A
DMIRAL
L
ORD
N
ELSON
took breakfast with his captains and
lieutenants
in the gilded stateroom of the
Victory
. The cook had excelled himself that morning with a pair of roast ducks as well as the usual ham, eggs and kidneys and there was a great quantity of toast and strong coffee besides, so his guests ate well, but the Admiral was abstemious, as he invariably was when there were matters to be decided, and only took a poached egg and a single rasher of ham.

Captain Prowse arrived from the
Sirius
with news that there was no sign of any movement in or out of Brest and a letter from Admiral Cornwallis which was an apology for having sailed before they were able to meet and explained that it was because he had a rendezvous at sea with the other ships of the Channel Fleet, ‘there being no other cause which would have prevented me from meeting my old comrade in arms.’

The graceful compliment made Nelson smile but Cornwallis’s absence presented him with a problem. The last orders he’d received before he left Spithead were that he was to meet Cornwallis at the Black Rocks and hand over the command of the
Victory
to him and how could that be done if the man was somewhere in the Atlantic? If he’d been at the meeting they could have come to an amicable arrangement and he could have kept the
Victory
, for he was sure Cornwallis was well provided with ships of the line and had no particular need of her, whereas he would find it hard to do without her.

The problem of obeying the Admiralty’s instructions in these altered circumstances was discussed over the roast duck and the ham and kidneys. Several of the captains at the table thought that finding the admiral in the Atlantic would be an almost impossible task, given that he could be anywhere along the French coast and given that the wind was freshening and changing direction.

‘If it blows from the north as it did when we left the Solent,’ Captain Sutton pointed out, ‘we shall be hard put to it to sail in any direction but southerly, leave alone conduct a search.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Nelson said, ‘difficult though it may well be, that is what we are duty-bound to attempt, if we are to follow Admiralty orders as officers and gentlemen. I have no desire to hand over this ship, for I tell you plainly, when I fight the French, as I fully intend to do, no matter how far and how long they run, I would rather fight them aboard the
Victory
than on any other ship of the line. However orders are orders and, as I said, we are duty bound. We will search until dusk, gentlemen, and then rendezvous again and reconsider our position.’ It was a compromise but one that might turn out for the best with a contrary wind blowing.

It blew strongly all through the day but his fleet battled against it and searched wherever they could, without news from any quarter or sight of a single sail of any description. When they returned to the Black Rocks at the end of the allotted time, they were exhausted but no further on than they’d been when they started.

‘If I am to be at Gibraltar to take command of Sir Richard Bickerton’s squadron and to meet with Governor Ball,’ Nelson said, as he and Captain Sutton stood on the quarter-deck surveying the return of the fleet, ‘I cannot delay any further. I shall transfer to the
Amphion
this evening and sail on with Captain Hardy. I leave you to continue the search. If you have not found Admiral Cornwallis after six more days you must return to Plymouth for further orders. On the other hand, if you find him and he has no need of the
Victory
, which I am confident will turn out to be the case, you are to follow me with all speed. I have written letters to cover both eventualities.’

The news that the
Amphion
was to be Nelson’s flag ship provoked a mixed reaction aboard. Some of the crew agreed with their captain that it was an honour to be chosen, others complained that it would be ‘all spit an’ polish from now on’ and predicted that they would all be harried ‘from here to Sunday’. Nevertheless, the dog watch turned out in style to line the decks and cheer their Admiral as he was piped aboard, for
whatever
else they might think they were all agreed that he was a fine good man and the only one who could find them ol’ Frenchies and make ’em come out and fight.

To Marianne, his arrival was exactly what she needed. She’d been tetchy with impatience while they’d been searching the empty sea. It had all been such a waste of time for how could anyone find one little ship on all this water? It wasn’t humanly possible. Now they could get on with their journey and she would soon be in Gibraltar and could go ashore and find her Jem. She’d started to learn the language – or some of it at least – found her sea-legs, discovered a way to dress without attracting attention and now she wanted to get on with the real purpose of her voyage.

‘Soon be in Gibraltar, eh, Mr Galley,’ she said, when the great Admiral had gone to his quarters and they were all dispersing.

‘You got the Bay a’ Biscay to contend with first, my lubber,’ he said. ‘Don’ forget that.’

But she’d learnt a few sailor’s superstitions by now and knew that the way to deal with a potential hazard was to make a bargain with Fate. If she could get through this bay without being sick, she would find Jem. And in the event, the dreaded bay, was no more of a problem than the Channel had been and a great deal calmer. The sea was a deeper blue than she’d ever seen it and the waves were longer, rolling them onwards in smooth inexorable swathes of water, but there were no storms, the wind blew fair and the sun shone like a blessing. The clothes they’d washed in sea water the day before, were dried and ready to be worn by the time church was rigged on Sunday, and from then on it was all plain sailing and their voyage south continued without let, hindrance or
incident
. Johnny Galley said he’d be blowed if he’d ever know’d such a crossing and swore their new shipmate was a good omen, and their new shipmate grinned and agreed with him. The only thing that puzzled her was where all the other ships had got to and why they weren’t all sailing together the way they’d done when they left Portsmouth. Eventually, she asked him.

‘Gone a-searching with the
Victory
, my lubber,’ he said. ‘We shan’t see them for days yet. Don’ ’ee fret about ’em. They’ll catch up with us later.’

That wasn’t the answer she wanted. ‘How much later, Mr Galley?’

‘How should I know?’ Johnny Galley said. ‘You’ll have to ask the Admiral, you wants to know a thing like that. Get an’ eat yer figgy dowdy an’ don’t ask so many questions.’

He was looking quite cross, so that’s what she had to do. But her thoughts were spinning with frustration. What if they hadn’t caught up by the time the
Amphion
reached Gibraltar? She couldn’t put her plan
into action if theirs was the only ship in the harbour. Oh come on do, she urged the empty seas. Show a sail for pity’s sake. But two days later they were travelling east, just out of sight of the Portuguese coast, still making good speed but still alone, and her shipmates said Gibraltar was just a few leagues away.

And then just as she’d given up hope, the look-out called, ‘Sail ahoy!’

There was instant activity on the quarter-deck. Lord Nelson and Captain Hardy had telescopes to their eyes, several midshipmen stood eagerly about waiting for orders. But they were looking the wrong way, surely. The fleet would be following them and they were training their telescopes on the seas ahead of them. Oh now what?

It wasn’t long before they all knew. The ship they were watching was a brig, small, two-masted, low in the water with the weight of her cargo and French. They were catching up with her fast and were going to take her. The excitement on board was palpable for this was a chance to earn some prize money. A brig was fair game and could be carrying valuable cargo.

Marianne was surprised to see what an easy capture it was. The little ship put up no resistance at all, hove to obediently so that the
Amphion
could come alongside, and surrendered her cargo without argument.

‘Fortunes a’ war, my sonny,’ Johnny Galley said, as they settled to supper. The brig had been stripped and was now sailing behind them towards Gibraltar. ‘They’re lucky they was took by a British frigate accordin’ to the articles a’ war. If we’d ha’ been pirates we’d ha’ killed ’em, every man jack.’

Which is all very well, Marianne thought, but where’s the fleet? That’s what I wants for to know. Where’s the fleet an’ where’s Jem?

He was in the middle of his first sea fight too and enjoying it hugely. During the last few days, he’d listened to his shipmates bragging of death and glory and been none too sure how he would react when he came under enemy fire himself, but from the moment all hands were piped and the gun crew began to clear the decks for action he was lifted into a state of such triumphant excitement he wanted to shout and cheer. He didn’t do either, of course. There were too many other things to attend to. But the joy of being in action was as strong as any emotion he’d ever felt in his life. It was three parts terror, he couldn’t deny that, but the remaining seven parts were sheer bloody-minded exhilaration.

Their enemy was a French frigate that had appeared over the horizon
just before six bells in the morning watch and, instead of taking flight, as they’d all expected, had sailed straight and aggressively towards them.

The gun crews were growlingly delighted. ‘Want a fight, do she?’ they said, grinning bravado at one another. ‘Well she’s come to the right shop, this time. We’ll blow her out the water, shan’t we, boys? Ho, there’ll be money in this.’

Once the decks had been cleared, Jem and Mr Turner went below to the orlop deck taking their bungs with them.

‘I doubt the beggars’ll hole us,’ the carpenter said. ‘We’re a deal too low in the water for that, but ’tis a heavy sea and I likes to be prepared.’

By that time the entire ship was prepared and prickly with tension, as if the very air was bristling. Bare feet pounded on the decks above their heads as the powder monkeys carried up shot, they could hear orders shouted sharp and quick, seven bells clanged, then there was a sudden lurch as they went about, turning broadside to their prey, and after that several long seconds when nothing happened at all. Jem held his breath until his throat ached and his heart was beating so wildly he was afraid Mr Turner would see it throbbing under the cotton of his jacket and tried to cover it with his hand. When the cannon were fired, the noise was so sudden and so shattering it made him jump. The air was instantly full of smoke and stink and unfamiliar sounds. He heard the whistle of approaching shot, the roar of the guns’ recoil, another set of thunderous explosions, another growling recoil, and then an unexpected cheer, which startled him almost as much as the first broadside had done. He wished he could be up on deck and could see what was going on instead of being stuck below in the darkness. And, as if in answer to his thoughts, Mr Turner spoke to him out of the gloom.

‘They’ve never took her so quick,’ he said. ‘Nip up atop an’ take a look-see. Only don’t let anyone catch you. We’re supposed to keep to our stations.’

It was easy enough for there was sufficient smoke swirling between the decks to give cover to a dozen men and once he’d inched out into the daylight, he discovered that all eyes were fixed on the spectacle of their vanquished enemy. She was shot to pieces, just as the gunners had predicted, her sails torn, her maintopmast broken, her rigging trailing like ribbons. It was, as one of the powder monkeys was happy to tell him, just enough damage to disable the beggar but not too much to prevent her making good prize money.

‘You’re ship’s carpenter, aintcher?’ the boy said. ‘We made work for you an’ all then. Once we’ve took off their supplies an’ brung ’em to order an’ so forth, you’ll be shipped across to put all to rights again. You see if I ain’t right. Then she can sail with us when we moves on, what we got ter do on account a’ we got ter find the Admiral.’

At supper that night, after the frigate had surrendered and been given a new Master, and Jem and Mr Turner and three topmen had been shipped across to make the necessary repairs, the crew were given double rations of grog by way of celebration. By the time Jem swung drunkenly into his hammock, he was so full of rum and the euphoria of a difficult job well done, he felt as if he’d won the battle all by himself. What a life this is! he thought, as the sea rocked him to sleep.

The next day they made sail to rejoin the fleet and find Admiral Cornwallis. There wasn’t a man aboard who didn’t feel confident of success.

‘We could find a needle in a haystack if we set our minds to it,’ Tom said to Jem. ‘What with our signals an’ all. An’ as to them Frenchies, they can eat as many frogs as they like but, when it comes to fightin’, they ain’t a match fer us an’ never will be. You can see that now can’tcher, my lubber? Once Lord Nelson can tease ’em out a’ harbour, what he’ll do sooner or later on account of he’s set his mind to it, we’ll blow ’em out the water, you just see if we don’t.’

To Jem, standing there on that British deck, on the last day of May, in the warmth of the summer sunshine, it all seemed perfectly and predictably possible.

The
Amphion
arrived in Gibraltar late at night on Friday 3 June and dropped anchor in Rosia bay in the darkness. Marianne was off watch and fast asleep but the grinding of the anchor chain woke her at once. We’re here, she thought. At last. Now I can start looking for him. They’re bound to send the boats ashore for fresh water and provisions. Stands to reason, all the food we’ve ate a-coming here. Very well then, I shall get aboard the longboat one way or another – they’re bound to need hands and I can turn mine to anything – and once I’m ashore I’ll ask everyone I meet. On which happy plan she slept again.

And was woken at four bells to a crushing disappointment. There were no other British ships in the bay. Not a single one. As she scrubbed the decks with her holystone she kept a weather eye out for new arrivals but none came. Admiral Lord Nelson went ashore to meet the local
worthies, looking very grand in his full dress uniform, and at eight bells they were piped to breakfast in the usual way but they dined on their own in the empty calm of the harbour with the great brown rock rising above them like a citadel and a blue sea lapping their timbers, as gentle as a cat, and no more British ships arrived to join them. Where were they all? Even Johnny Galley couldn’t tell her.