Girl on the Orlop Deck (9 page)

Tom stared at him. ‘You don’t never mean for to tell me you took all your pay to a whorehouse.’

Jem nodded miserably.

‘More fool you then,’ Tom told him. ‘That’s all I got to say to ’ee. I never heard such folly.’ But then the conversation had to come to an end for a midshipman had appeared and was shouting at them to stir their stumps.

Jem sloped off to his duties, inwardly cursing himself for being a fool and he went on cursing all through a long and tedious morning. ‘I tell ’ee, Tom,’ he said, when they sat alongside each other eating their midday meal, ‘I wish I’d never took the shillin’ and that’s a fact. I was a blamed fool then and I’m a blamed fool now. I’d ha’ been better off stayin’ at home, wife or no wife. Least a wife don’t steal your wages.’

That provoked a roar of laughter. ‘If that’s your way a’ thinking, my lubber,’ old Josh said, spluttering into his grog, ‘you’d best think again. Women are all the same. Take my word for it. That wife of yourn’ll be the same as all the others. She’ll have the coat off yer back afore you can blink.’

‘No, she won’t,’ Jem said, stung into defending her. He’d given her a black name in all conscience, but she wasn’t as bad as all that. ‘She might have a tongue in her head – that I won’t deny – but she’s an honest woman. I’d stake my life on it. She en’t a thief.’

‘They’re all the same!’ Josh told him. ‘You mark my words. Nary trust a one a’ them.’

‘’Specially whores!’ another man said. ‘They puts one hand down yer breeches while the other one’s a-nicking your purse. ’Tis the same the world over.’

Jem sighed heavily. ‘So t’would seem,’ he said.

Tom grinned at him. ‘Well, you know now don’tcher, my lubber,’ he
said, and raised his tankard in mock salute. ‘Down the hatch, shipmate. Drink up and look chearly. Worse things happen at sea.’

Jem drank his grog and ate every last mouthful of his figgy dowdy and was partially cheered, but the irritation niggled in his mind for days. Hard work and distance had muddied his memory and it was sometimes quite hard to remember what Marianne looked like. He could remember her hair, good, strong, thick hair it was, the colour of a ship’s rope. If he closed his eyes he could see it clearly. And he seemed to recall a blue dress and a strong wind whipping it tight against her belly as she walked, and if he strained his mind, he could see her hands hard at work in her father’s kitchen, sewing or sweeping or setting the table, but the rest of her was a blur. It rather upset him, for after all, she
was
his wife when all was said and done. Howsomever, what was done was done and whether or not he could conjure up a picture of her, one thing he was quite certain about: she was a hardworking honest woman. She would never have stolen his money, or cheated on him in any way. And for a yearning moment, he wished he could see her again.

‘High time we was sent home to Portsmouth,’ he complained to Tom, when the wind had changed direction and they’d finally been given the order to set sail from the harbour. ‘I’m sick a’ this winter, going all on and on. He must send us home soon, surely. We can’t stay at sea all year long. ’Tent nat’ral.’

‘Don’t get yer hopes up,’ Tom warned. ‘He’ll stay at sea until we fights the French and that’s all there is to it. We shall see the winter out, you mark my words.’

T
HERE WAS A
snowstorm blowing, flakes swirling thick as goose feathers from an obliterated sky and blown into impenetrable swathes by the force of a fearsome gale. Marianne had seen plenty of snow falling during her childhood and until that moment she would have said she was well used to it and had never been much affected by it, but it had never been anything like this. There was no peace or
prettiness
about this fall, no gentle descent, no distant hills to receive its silent cover, no muffling and calming silence. This snow was cold, cruel, all enveloping and absolutely terrifying for, beneath its chilling fall, the sea rose into the biggest, blackest and most terrible waves that she had ever seen. They mounded one after the other and reached such heights that they were taller than the mainmast and they fell upon the ship with a dreadful roar and such power it made the timbers shake and groan.

When the first one grew before her disbelieving eyes, Marianne screamed with fear. She simply couldn’t help it. She knew this was the most dangerous place for a ship under sail – they all knew that – that the wave was falling straight towards them and that if it hit them they would be lost. She was frozen to the deck with terror and watched as the wall of water fell upon the struggling ship with a roar that filled her ears and stopped the blood in her veins. There were people all around her struggling with the capstan and hauling on the ropes, but she couldn’t move, not even to obey orders. It wasn’t until Moll ran past her and hit her between the shoulder blades and yelled at her to ‘Look chearly!’ that she was pulled out of her trance, turned to and began to work with the rest. After that, she worked automatically, obeying orders and not stopping to think, and then it gradually became clear to her that there was a pattern to what they were doing and that the pattern could save them if they held to it strongly enough, and that calmed her fear.

They were running before the wind with the mainsail half reefed, the way they usually did in a storm and with a foretopmast staysail and a foretopsail, to prevent her from yawing and to lift the bows. The topsails could take what little wind there was in the trough of the wave and that gave them the chance to manoeuvre the ship into position to ride the next roller so that they weren’t struck in the stern and turned sideways on, which, as they all knew, would put them in danger of taking the next wave broadside on and being broached. It was taking all their captain’s expertise and every straining ounce of their combined and desperate energy to do it and each new wave was a palpable threat and a renewed terror. The ship bucked under every impact, shuddering like a frightened horse, but they were staying their course and outwitting the force of the wind.

Time passed, the waves grew, taller and taller, mounding and descending one after the other, inexorably. The struggle continued. There wasn’t a single member of the crew who wasn’t cold and exhausted, but they worked double watches, no matter what state they were in. If the ship’s bells were sounded, nobody heard them; food was prepared, somehow, and served whenever and wherever it was possible; they snatched whatever sleep they could when they were off watch; the snow fell as if it would never stop and the storm showed no signs of abating.

‘How long’s this goin’ on?’ Marianne said miserably to Moll, as they crouched on the gun deck eating what they could of their cold figgy dowdy. ‘It’s been more’n a day an’ a half now.’

‘No way a’ knowin’, my lubber,’ Moll told her, wearily. ‘’Tis a storm, so it is, an’ you knows what
they
’re like. One minute blowin’ fit to take your breath away and the next swirlin’ off to torment some other poor beggar.’

‘Well, I wish this one’ud swirl off,’ Marianne said. ‘Damn my eyes if I don’t. I can’t be doin’ with storms at sea.’

‘Nor me neither,’ Moll said. ‘Only we don’t have much choice in the matter.’

‘How long till spring? Tha’s what I wants for to know,’ Peg said. ‘It can’t go on like this for ever. I’ve forgot what the sun looks like.’

Marianne wiped her calloused hands on her jacket. ‘I hates the winter,’ she said, ‘an’ I hates the sea, an’ I wish I’d never joined the navy an’ that’s a fact, which I never would ha’ done if it hadn’t ha’ been for that blamed silly husband a’ mine, what I hates too. Goin’ off an’ getting’
tiddly an’ leading me into all this. Blamed fool!’ She’d forgotten how earnestly she’d been searching for him, forgotten how she’d vowed to find him. Now her mind was stuck with the knowledge that it was his fault she’d been fighting a storm and was frightened out of her wits. ‘If he was to appear afore me this minute,’ she said. ‘I’d spit in his eye, so I would, husband or no husband.’

‘I don’t know about you two,’ Peg said, ‘but I’m for some shut-eye. I’m dead on my feet an’ that’s a fact.’

They slept fitfully, despite their exhaustion, stirring to shift and shiver even though they were wrapped in their blankets. But they woke in total darkness to the sound of eight bells and an encouraging change in the movement of the ship. It was the end of the middle watch, the morning watch was about to begin and the storm was abating at last. When they reported to their various stations, the snow had stopped falling and they could see the sky and the horizon again and, although there was a strong sea running, the waves were white tipped and manageable, and the order was being given to put on more sail.

Breakfast was quite a cheerful meal and it became a celebration when Johnny Galley arrived with the news that they were heading for Maddelena again, to take on supplies and fresh water, so he said, and to make some necessary repairs, particularly to the sails, which had suffered a lot of damage in the high winds.

‘Not afore time,’ his messmates said, nodding their approval, and one of them added, ‘I hopes we stays there till springtime an’ has ourselves a proper rest, what we’ve earned in all conscience. I don’t hold with sailin’ in the winter. ’T’ent nat’ral.’

‘Try tellin’ the Admiral,’ Johnny Galley said, and winked at Marianne.

And that’s another thing, she thought, looking up at his bold face. We en’t had a minute to ourselves for weeks an’ weeks. An’ that en’t nat’ral neither. We needs our pleasure to keep us going. She was irritable and angry, torn by too many muddled emotions, still feeling the fear that had shaken her during the storm, ashamed of herself for being cowardly when her shipmates had been so stalwart, guilty for taking a lover when she was a married woman, angry that she’d been such a fool as to join the navy, annoyed with herself and the world and everything in it, the winter, the storm, the incessant cold and particularly that great stupid lummox she’d married. If it hadn’t been for him she would never have taken the shilling in the first place. It was all his fault. Well, I hopes he’s
been caught in that ol’ storm too, she thought, wherever he is. ’Twould pay him out, so it would, an’ serve him right, leavin’ me like that.

In fact he was in Valetta again. The
Sirius
had been transferred to Admiral Collingwood’s fleet and had been lying at anchor in the harbour for the last two days and, far from paying him out, the storm had done him a good turn. They’d come through it well enough, all things
considered
, with just calloused hands and aching bones and two ripped sails to show for it, but it had thrown Mr Turner into a fever, which nobody could understand but which was real enough. For two days after the storm died down, the carpenter lay in his cabin with his eyes closed and the sweat pouring down his face, groaning and suffering, and when the surgeon came down to inspect him, the diagnosis he made was immediate.

‘He is a deal too ill to remain aboard,’ he reported to Captain Prowse. ‘We must send him to the new naval hospital as soon as we come to harbour. They are better placed to deal with such fevers.’

Captain Prowse agreed. ‘Make the necessary arrangements,’ he said. ‘Mr Turner must be cared for. Fortunately we have another carpenter aboard.’

Five hours later, Mr Turner was wrapped in a blanket and carried down the gangplank like a large damp parcel by four of his shipmates and lifted into a Maltese carriage and driven away to the naval hospital, and, as soon as he was gone, Jem Templeman was promoted to Mr Templeman, ship’s carpenter, at a handsome rate of pay. At the end of his next watch, he moved in to the luxury of the carpenter’s cabin.

He was inordinately pleased with himself. ‘Ship’s carpenter,’ he said, admiring his black curls and his weather-browned face in Mr Turner’s little shaving mirror. Maybe he should grow a beard. ’Twould be fitting to his new rank and easily done. ‘’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good,’ he told his reflection happily.

The wind had been blowing in just the right direction to speed them into Valetta and for more than a week it blew in just the right direction to make it impossible for them to leave. None of the captains was
particularly
anxious to return to the trials and storms of the Mediterranean and Admiral Collingwood was happy to give his crews time to rest and recuperate. He would have stayed in the harbour for the rest of the winter had it not been for Nelson’s strict commands that the seas should
be patrolled. As it was he delayed for as long as he could and only set sail again when the wind was in exactly the right quarter. By that time, Mr Turner was struggling with the second recurrence of his fever and in no state to rejoin the ship so it was decided to leave him behind until their next visit.

Nobody on the lower deck was the least bit surprised to hear it. A seaman’s life was transitory at best and usually short, as those who had lived through a battle were only too well aware.

‘I allus know’d we’d sail without him,’ Tom said. ‘Stands to reason with a fever. We don’t want no fevers aboard an’ all of us breathin’ the same air. ’T’ent healthy. ’Sides, we got a good ship’s carpenter in ol’ Jem.’ He was proud of his shipmate’s promotion, even if it meant they wouldn’t mess together. ‘He’ll see us all right. An’ ol’ Mr Turner’ll be better when the spring comes, you see if I en’t right. Make a world a’ difference will the spring.’

Old Josh growled. ‘If it ever comes,’ he said, wiping his beard, ‘which I got my doubts about. You ask me we’re stuck with a long winter an’ more storms, I shouldn’t wonder.’

But his pessimism was misplaced. Spring came in its old dependable way, with a sudden waft of scented air to lift their spirits and a
gentleness
of sunshine to dry their sails and their slops.

‘Although what good it’ll do,’ Josh grumbled, as they skimmed through the green waters, ‘I can’t say. Now we shall have the Frenchies out of harbour an’ a fight on our hands.’

‘You’m never satisfied,’ Tom teased him. ‘Tha’s your trouble.’

‘Tha’s on account of I knows what’s what,’ Josh said. ‘They’ll be out, you mark my words.’

But three weeks went by and the sun grew stronger and the sea remained peaceful and there was no sign of a French sail although they patrolled all the most likely places and kept a weather eye open as long as there was daylight to see by.

‘’T’won’t please Lord Nelson,’ Jem said, when he and Tom met up in their leisure time to chew tobacco and gossip.

‘Can’t do much about it though, can he?’ Tom said. ‘If the beggars won’t come out an’ fight, they won’t, an’ that’s all there is to it. He’ll just have to exercise some patience like the rest of us.’

Nelson’s impatience was as strong as a storm, but he did what he could to curb it by keeping himself busy attending to the care of his men and his ships and as usual found plenty to do. He sent for his secretary at first light and kept him busy all day, writing letters at his dictation, and in private moments, he wrote to Emma telling her how much she was missed and how dearly she was loved, glancing up from the notepaper from time to time to gaze at her picture on the cabin wall. 

Crouched on the deck of the frigate
Amphion
, Marianne was spending her leisure time composing letters too. She’d written three long epistles since that first difficult composition and had grown so accustomed to the sight of her handwriting spreading across the page, and so used to the business of finding suitable things to say that she’d become quite fluent. She’d described the snowstorm in some detail, naturally, and told her mother what mortal peril they’d been in and how close they’d come to being broached and how bravely they’d struggled through it, bragging a little, like the sailor she was. When she read it through to Moll and Peg, she was afraid she might have bragged too much and added a postscript to reassure her poor mother that no harm had been done. 

Then she hid the letter in her ditty bag to wait for the next packet boat, feeling pleased with her endeavours. She hadn’t said anything about her search for Jem, but she supposed her mother would
understand
that you can’t go looking for people when you’re in the middle of
an ocean – even if you wanted to. She was a sailor now and must live her life according. Except for the times she spent with Johnny Galley.

The plain sailing continued, to everyone’s relief. The French continued to skulk in the harbours to everyone’s relief except the Admiral. It looked as though they were going to sail round and round the Mediterranean all through the spring just as they’d done all through the winter, without a shot being fired.