Richard Testrake - (Sea Command 2) (2 page)

Deciding it would be best if he made a pretense of being badly injured, he kept up that façade for the next few days. By then, the liner had come to harbor and was riding at anchor. Most of the seriously wounded patients had died and the more lightly wounded had recovered sufficiently to be sent to other quarters. One of the sick berth attendants, disgusted by the torn state of Mullins slop trousers, found him a better garment, taken from a dead French seaman.

The surgeon, having more time to spend on individual patients now, had begun to suspect Mullins was faking his injuries. When a French petty officer came down to the wardroom, asking the doctor if he had any hands healthy enough to load provisions, the surgeon pointed to Mullins, along with several other men, these being French.

All of the other English prisoners had been landed previously and Mullins was the only one remaining on the liner. Had he spoken, his nationality would have immediately been apparent, but by remaining mute, his inability to speak or understand what others were saying was thought to be the result of his head wound. His clothing seemingly identified him as a French seaman.

When the petty officer began shouting at him, one of the other French seamen grabbed his arm and led him off as one might a mentally defective patient. Provisions loaded on board from a lighter were passed from one hand to another to their storage in the hold.

Weak from loss of blood, Mullins had a difficult time performing the work, so the petty officer, relenting, ordered him sent down into the lighter to help clean up. When this work was accomplished, the crew on the liner began lowering casks of condemned preserved meat by tackle from the mainyard down into the lighter.

It became Mullin’s task to guide the heavy casks into position. Desperately weak now, another seaman took pity on him and pointed to a space between casks and told him to conceal himself there until the work was finished. Understanding the gesture, if not the spoken words, he crouched in the cramped space. In due course, he fell asleep and did not waken until the lighter was at the quay.

A shore crew came aboard to unload the casks. Mullins, refreshed now, emerged from his hiding place and joined in the work. Some of the hands might have wondered at this blood-stained shirtless man helping with their labor but nothing was said immediately. When men were called out of the lighter to assist on shore, Mullins followed. Unobserved, he slipped away and hid between some buildings until the work was done.

Now the task was to try to get away from the harbor area to find a refuge. His mind was still cloudy or he might have just given himself up then and there. That evening, when it began to grow cold, Mullins decided it was time to find a better place to hide.

At this time, most of the local inhabitants were home eating supper, so there were few to notice this strange man wandering through their town. Some might have thought him to be a drunk, wandering home after a fight of some kind. When a pair of French gendarmes began following him, he thought it might soon be all over.

It was then he noticed a shabby, run-down church off the street. He walked to it and opened the door as though he had every right. It was very dim inside, with only a single oil lamp to moderate the darkness. There were a few benches and a table up front that apparently served as a lectern and perhaps an altar. Sitting on one of the back benches, he bowed his head as if in prayer.

A door opened in the opposite end of the building and a woman stepped through. In the dim light, she appeared to be a stout woman of middle age, one who had perhaps seen her share of misfortune. Mullins did not acknowledge her presence and she walked to him, addressing him in French.

Mullins had had a French tutor as a boy and still remembered a few words of the language, but was unable to carry on an intelligent conversation in French. He knew he should just get up and leave, but he did not have the energy. Unresponsive to the woman, she tried another language, which he took to be German, of which he had no knowledge whatever.

Then, the frustrated woman said, in perfectly understandable English, “Well, I suppose there’s no point asking you if you speak English, is there?”

Surprised, Mullins blurted out that he did speak English. With that, the woman ordered him to follow her, and she led him to a room in the rear of the church. It apparently served as a storeroom, but there was a table, and what appeared to be the remains of the woman’s last meal. A heel of bread, a little oil, a bit of cheese and a quarter bottle of wine. She shoved it in front of Mullins and ordered him to eat. A few minutes later, he felt much better than he had in days.

As he finished, she was able to get the details of his presence on mainland France. He held nothing back, reasoning that she could do to him what she wished. He thought if she decided to help him, he should give her what information she needed.

When he finished, she explained her own presence. She was Martha Baker. Her husband had been a fisherman from Plymouth with his own boat. She related he had been a good provider but had begun a search for God when their only son was lost at sea on a friend’s boat. Eventually, in addition to fishing, he began to preach his idea of the Gospel to people he met on the street. This was not well received by many, and eventually, he began to be treated as a pariah.

During this time of trouble, a storm at sea left him stranded on the shore in France for several days, just before the Revolution. Appalled at the seeming irreverence for religion he saw there, he decided to locate to France and build a church. The idea in his mind was to bring religion to these people. He could already speak a sort of French, having conversed with French fishermen for much of his life.

Mrs. Baker was not anxious to make the move, but she was a dutiful wife and would go with her husband. They sold everything they owned except for the boat and made the move. They bought this small building which Mr. Baker used as a church, with the rear and upstairs for living quarters. The Bakers were not well received in France, but her husband continued fishing and was able to make enough money to feed himself and his wife along with the occasional French seaman who had fallen upon hard times. Early in the Revolution, Mister Baker had taken ill and died.

Martha would have been destitute save for a pair of displaced Africans who came in the church one morning. Originally taken from a slave ship on its way to the new world, a French naval vessel had dropped them off at Brest’s waterfront. Now free because of the ideals of the Revolution, the men were almost unemployable, with only a few words of French between them. They had been scavenging for food when they found Martha’s church. While she did not regard herself as a woman of God, she felt it her duty to assist any human coming before her needing help.

Having fed these two, with no place else to go, they remained nearby, doing odd jobs for Martha in exchange for food. A fair sailor herself, she took the men out on her husband’s old boat one day and they tried their hands at netting fish. She soon learned that one of the Africans had been a fisherman himself, back in his African village. He had fished from a canoe on a lake there, and had used a different kind of net, but he was able to adapt to this sailing vessel. They began to bring back catches they could sell in the market, eating themselves the fish they could not sell.

Life was better for Martha now than it had been for years, but now this war intruded. The revolutionary authorities feared she might be meeting British ships at sea to give away secrets, so began requiring her to take French soldiers on her fishing boat to prevent any mischief. These soldats often refused to help with the catch and always demanded a substantial percentage of the harvest for themselves.

A visit with the soldat’s commanding officer failed to help, since he then also demanded a share of the catch. She wished she could return to England but feared to make the attempt.

Mullins asked her if the boat was capable of making the trip across the channel. She said her husband had sailed it over, years ago, but she feared to be caught in a storm. With nothing more to say, she gave him some blankets and advised him to find a comfortable spot on the floor to sleep.

Next morning, she announced she was nearly out of food in the house and it was time for her to go fishing again. Mullins wondered if he might go along on the trip, to examine the possibilities for escape, but she assured him he would be caught immediately. She said she had to give the local garrison notice whenever she sailed, so a soldier could be posted aboard her boat. She said if she did not do so, her boat would be confiscated. If Mullins were on the boat, the French soldier would arrest him and turn him in to the authorities.

Mullins wondered, “What if I hid aboard the boat? Once out of sight of land, we could take that soldier and tip him over the side, then continue on out to find one of the blockading fleet.”

“Oh, Captain Mullins, I could not take a hand in killing another human being. If you insist on that action, I must forbid you the use of my boat.”

“Very well, what if we were to secure the soldier, tie him and turn him over to the British navy? He would be a prisoner of war, to be released when the war is over.”

She thought for a few minutes, and then replied. “These soldiers are thieves and would deserve to be held in prison for a time. I must insist though; the soldier must not be harmed.”

Mullins asked, “What about these Black crewmen of yours. Would they help me take this soldier?”

She answered, “I could never pronounce their African names, so I call them Matthew and Mark. They seem not to mind. Both men are very ferocious appearing men and I doubt either would have any qualms of inflicting injury upon someone who was intent on doing me harm. I believe the thing to do would be to put it to them.”

“But Captain Mullins, I gather you wish to leave right away. This I cannot do. I must first sell this building and many of my belongings; else I would be penniless in England. I am afraid we must allow time for the property to be sold.”

Mullins answered, “Martha, we cannot wait. We will surely be discovered, and that would be the end of any idea of escape. As it happens, I am not without funds myself, back home. I would be pleased, once we land safely, to purchase any property you wish to sell at almost any price you wish to name.”

Martha was fearful and hesitant, but in the end she agreed it would be for the best if they made a clean break immediately. She excused herself while she visited the garret where her employees resided.

When she returned, she brought with her two Black men, both of whose faces were disfigured with tribal scars. These men, while tall and slender, were powerfully built and Mullins decided he would rather not engage in physical competition with either. Martha explained she had informed the men of her plans, as best as she was able with the language difficulty, and the pair seemed willing to do their part.

Martha found an old shirt and hat from her husband, which he put on. Both were too large, but the hat, sitting low on his head did much to hide his bandaged wound. They left the building in a close group, with Mullins in the middle. Making their way to the waterfront, Martha pointed to a small fishing smack anchored offshore. When Mullins wondered how they were to get to the craft, she pointed to an overturned boat on the beach. She said she must now go to the garrison headquarters to report her plans to fish today. She thought he and the two Africans should get the beached boat in the water and row out to the smack. She told him of a cubby up forward where he could hide until it was time to secure their soldier.

When Mullins tried to turn the boat upright, it seemed to be made of lead, but the two Africans were able to flip it over with ease. The trio dragged it to the water and soon had it floating. A single pair of oars was in the boat. Neither of the two crewmen seemed adept with them, so Mullins took over and rowed them out to the smack.

Someone had gone to much trouble to clean the boat and Mullins had never seen a fishing boat that smelled this fresh. The cubby up in the bow was as described and Mullins cleared out some of the gear inside and arranged himself. It was crowded, but he knew he could stand the discomfort for a chance of a return to safety.

The two crewmen began arranging the fishing gear for their trip. Mullins had left the little door to the cubby open for ventilation until he saw Martha on the beach with a soldier in uniform. She was waving a towel, apparently a signal for one of the Africans to drop what he was doing and row the skiff to shore to pick up Martha and her guest. The crewman, more used to paddles than oars, made slow work of the transit. Once ashore, Martha deposited some packages in the boat and took the oars herself. With powerful strokes, she propelled the boat out to the smack.

Long before the boat approached, Mullins had closed up the cubby. In the darkness, he saw sunlight shining through a small knothole, and was able to keep watch on what was happening outside. He saw Martha and the soldier climb over the side. The soldier found a seat on an upturned bucket and sat down, his musket lying on the deck beside him. Martha had handed up a basket of food, with a large, stoneware container of wine displayed on top.

Without saying a word, the soldier reached over to the basket and took out the jug. Removing the cork, he tipped the jug to his lips and took a pull. Martha and her men pulled up the anchor and set sail, while the soldier sat swilling his wine. There was a good offshore breeze which propelled the smack out of the harbor. With the vessel on course and no obstructions or traffic ahead, Martha lashed the tiller to keep the smack on course and went to her food basket.