Courtier in the Royal House of Stuart

by Leslie Hatton

  As we entered the Atlantic Ocean the sea became angry. I was standing on the quarterdeck watching the moon move slowly across the sky until it was eventually covered by cloud. I stayed a little longer… holding on to the side rail of the rocking ship until it started to rain.

  That was when I decided it was time to return to my cabin. Thomas was somewhere with Charles and I was feeling a little unwell so I retired to my cot.

  I was sharing the same cabin with Thomas as I did on my first voyage, but this time there were no officers or soldiers on board, they were all on the other ships. He may well have been a little overcautious but decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Prince Charles’s ship had been reserved exclusively for his loyal friends, domestics and retainers.

  At first I couldn’t sleep for thinking about my first voyage out of England when I was almost killed by a loose cannon: And then the contrived accident in Brussels which confirmed for sure that someone really wanted to hurt me or worse… but why… what could I have possibly done to drive someone to such lengths, to such extremes? I strained my brain for answers but I could not come up with anything credible… perhaps I was overreacting, perhaps it was all coincidence and nobody was really trying to harm me at all… but that was not what Thomas and my Lord, Prince Charles, thought… they had taken the attack on me very seriously and were not prepared to take any more risks. Confused and exhausted eventually I must have fallen into a deep sleep.

  I awoke when I banged my head on the side of my bunk, the ship was bouncing about on an angry sea like a cork. It was still dark and Thomas was snoring loudly, completely oblivious to the noise of waves crashing against the side of the ship.

  I needed to piss but realised it would be unwise to venture on deck, so I staggered across the cabin to where a bucket was swinging noisily on a hook… I carried it back and sat on the edge of my bed, but when I looked down my head began to spin. I was not quite sure which to do first, empty my bladder or be sick, my stomach made the decision for me.

  Most of my supper found the bucket but some did not… the same happened when I pissed.

  With the bucket now half full of a noxious stinking mixture, I fell back onto my bed. The cabin was still spinning but at least while lying on my back the sickness did not seem quite so bad, so that is where I intended to stay for the rest of the day.

  Thomas grunted, sat up, stretched and farted.

  ‘You alright Toby?’

  ‘Not really, I think I am going to die,’ I squeaked.

  ‘You will be alright when you get some food in you,’ he said as he picked up the bucket and staggered out of the cabin.

  The last thing I wanted was food, but within a few minutes he was back with a lump of cheese, some bread and a couple of apples.

  ‘Eat,’ he said, ‘and drink plenty of water… we should be in St Helier before midnight.’

  ‘I don’t think I will live that long, if I die will you bury me at sea?’

  ‘You won’t die, now eat your food. I will be back later.’

  The cabin door slammed shut and he was gone before I had time to open my mouth.

  It was well into the afternoon before I had the courage to sit up, I still felt lightheaded and fragile but decided to risk a walk on deck.

  The sea was now much calmer and I was feeling slightly better, the dark clouds and strong winds of the previous day were gone, replaced by a clear blue sky.

  The sun looked much larger than usual, and I watched while clinging to the rails as it slowly dropped lower on the horizon, until it eventually disappeared beneath the waves.

  The fresh sea air must have done me good because I began to feel hungry. Still feeling a little unsteady, I staggered down to the galley where I found Thomas eating with Prince Charles.

  ‘Come and join us,’ called Charles, ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘A little my Lord.’

  ‘Good… get yourself some food and sit down.’

  ***

  I stayed up late that night, hoping to get an early sighting of our destination; the wind had dropped to little more than a light breeze and the air temperature was much warmer. Thomas had said we would be in St Helier before midnight but there was still no sign of lights on the horizon to indicate that we were close to land, just the flicker of navigation lights from our other ships following in our wake. At midnight I gave up and retired to my bunk for the third time.

  When I woke on the third day, the ship was at anchor in the still calm waters off the coast of St Helier, the ship now a hive of activity as crew members scurried back and forward to the shore carrying men and provisions.

  I quickly dressed and joined Thomas on the quarterdeck.

  ‘Can you see the building at the top of the hill to the left?’ Thomas said, pointing to land.

  I rubbed my eyes and gazed in the direction he was pointing.

  ‘Yes… what is it?’

  ‘That is where we will be staying while we are here in St Helier. Gather up anything you want to take with you… we will be going ashore on the next boat.’

  ‘Is everyone going ashore?’

  ‘Everyone will get some shore leave while we are here, but there is not enough accommodation for everyone, so the men-at-arms will be staying on their ships.’

  We stepped ashore by means of a rickety wooden pier and walked to the bottom of a steep winding path which led to our Mansion House at the top of the hill.

  ‘We will have to wait here for a carriage… there doesn’t seem to be many available.’

  ‘Can we not walk it Thomas?’

  ‘I suppose so but don’t rush me, just remember I have a bad foot, and am much older than you.’

  The path was steep and there were many steps to climb before we eventually reached the top, by which time Thomas was limping badly and panting like a dog.

  We sat together on a stone bench, resting and taking in the magnificent view of St Helier, the capital city of Jersey, and our magnificent ships at anchor half a mile offshore.

  It was fascinating watching the small boats ferrying men and provisions to shore, and the multitude of other ubiquitous vessels you find in harbours everywhere.

  When Thomas had recovered from the climb, we entered the house and were escorted to the room to which we had been allocated.

  The house that was to be our home for the duration of our stay on the island was not as large as I first thought. But it was big enough for Prince Charles, his closest allies and most of his domestics. I later discovered a small building at the rear divided into two… one half for a carriage, the other for stabling.

  The front of the building opened straight onto the road which wound its way down to the centre of St Helier.

  ‘I am going to be busy with Charles all day so if you want to wander down to the harbour, take the path we came up on, take a book or something but do be careful.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me Thomas, what could happen to me here?’

  ‘I don’t know… that is what worries me.’

  ‘What’s so important that you have to deal with it now? We have only just arrived.’

  ‘You know how we had planned to join forces with the Duke of Ormonde in Ireland.’

  ‘Yes, is there a problem?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it that. We have just been informed that a week ago Cromwell crushed Ormonde’s resistance at Drogheda. So our plan has been thwarted.’

  ‘So what you are saying is that we have come all this way for nothing?’

  ‘Think of it as a holiday,’ he said.

  ‘What next? Will we be going back to The Hague?’

  ‘I should think so, but not for a while. If we do go to Scotland we will have to approach from the east which means passing our temporary home in Holland.’

  ‘Do you think the Scots will help us?’

 
‘The Stuarts are Scottish so they should help, they always have in the past but nothing is certain in these troubled times. Leslie who commands the Royalists in Scotland is negotiating with the Catholic Confederation in Edinburgh on our behalf, so I suppose it all depends on the outcome of those talks, but that is classified information so keep it to yourself for now.’

  I had a good wash to get rid of the smell of sick in my hair, a good meal to refill my empty belly and then took the same path down to the bay that we had used earlier.

  St Helier

  The bay of St Helier is a complete half circle, probably three to four miles across, with a rocky hill at one side of the town, and a sandy beach the other. The town and harbour lay to my left, but first I decided to take a walk the other way, along the shore.

  Kicking off my boots I walked along in the soft sandy beach, collected a couple of unusual looking shells on the way, and then paddled in the water which I found to be cold but refreshing.

  After walking about a mile or so, I put on my boots, turned round and ambled back on slightly higher ground, eventually finding a stone bench overlooking the harbour not far from the path leading back to my lodgings. It was here that I decided to rest before exploring the town.

  Our ships all now stripped of sail were now anchored out in the bay, only the Prince Charles was moored up to the harbour wall.

  Closer to shore there was a large quantity of boats, some large, but others no bigger than rowing boats, many were just moored up and deserted but there were others on the move in all directions, busying themselves with all manner of work, but mostly they were fishing boats or ferryboats.

  I abandoned my book because there was so much more interesting things going on in front of me, the fishermen, the stevedores and the vendors all busily going about their business.

  I smiled to myself as I studied three of the largest fishing boats tied up to the harbour wall, all three identical and raised front and back making them look a little like tiny frigates. I had seen nothing quite like them before but thought they must be a type of ketch… similar to the ones that worked the Thames.

  They were all gaff-rigged on the main mast, and carried a lugsail on the mizzen, with two jibs on a long bowsprit. I could see that they all carried a trawling line and had rudders rather than steering oars.

  A man who was obviously off one of the boats sat next to me and lit up his pipe, he was roughly the same age as Prince Charles but sturdier.

  ‘Which one is yours?’ I asked.

  ‘The dogger on the right,’ he said, pointing with his pipe to one of the three larger boats. ‘But it’s not mine… not yet anyway, it belongs to my old man, I just work for him.’

  ‘Just the two of you?’

  ‘And my kid brother and mother, we live and work on the old tub.’

  ‘What do you store in the raised bow?’

  ‘That’s where we live. I share a cabin with my kid brother. The old couple have the other cabin, there is also a galley and a food store on that deck. On the lower deck we store provisions, firewood, fishing lines and nets. Sometimes if we have a good catch, we put some of that in there too.’

  ‘How big is the dogger if that is what you call it?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions, do you want to buy it… everything has a price?’

  I laughed. ‘No thanks, I’m just interested, you don’t see boats like those on the Thames.’

  ‘Well then I had better tell you about the old tub. It’s fifty feet long with a beam of fifteen and a draught of just under six. It’s steered by a rudder, and back there in the stern is where we store the nets and lobster pots… above that room is the room where we keep our rowing boat and spare nets. This type of boat is called a dogger because it was originally designed to work on the Dogger Bank, and that’s why it has such a shallow draught.’

  ‘Is there just the four of you then?’

  ‘My old man won’t take on anyone else, and we haven’t the room for them if he did.’

  He knocked out his pipe on the bench and took a small tin box out of his pocket.

  ‘Which ship did you come here on?’

  ‘The Prince,’ I said.

  He took a pinch of snuff from the tin, dropping it on the back of his hand and sniffing it up his nose… he sneezed and offered the tin to me.

  I shook my head. ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Do you know anyone called Toby on the Prince?’

  I was surprised by his question but thought nothing of it.

  ‘I am Toby. Why do you ask?’

  ‘That’s lucky… there’s someone looking for you, someone called Thomas Hudson, do you know him?’

  There must be something wrong if Thomas is looking for me I thought.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s on board with my old man.’

  He stood and pointed to the boat. ‘You will find him somewhere on deck or in the galley I think.’ He then strolled off. ‘Perhaps I will see you again,’ he called.

  I walked down to the boat he had pointed to, but I couldn’t see anyone so I stepped up the plank and onto the deck.

  A voice from the bows called, ‘Are you looking for Mr Hudson?’

  The voice had come from an older man, probably in his forties, who looked scruffy and unwashed with a battered hat perched on his head at an angle. I assumed he was the father of the man I had been talking to earlier.

  ‘Yes,’ I called back.

  ‘He’s in here,’ he said as he vanished through a door leading to what I thought must be their living accommodation. I followed him in and that is all I remember until I woke up in a darkened room, gagged and bound hand and foot.

  My head was throbbing, my left eye was swollen and almost shut, and I was in complete darkness lying on what I thought was a pile of sacks… cursing my stupidity for being so easily fooled, and wondering if I would ever see daylight again.

  It was now clear and beyond any doubt that someone really did want to harm me, and that this was his most carefully planned and ambitious attempt. He was taking no chances. This time he wanted me dead.

  ***

  Thomas was busy with Charles and would not miss me for a few hours by which time it could be too late.

  Lying there in the dark my thoughts drifted back to my childhood with Veronica and her ladies in Black Friars. With George and his drinking partner Stinky Skinner, and the odd assortment of men who visited Veronica’s brothel regularly on Fleet Alley. And then I thought of the Palace Noordeinde, Louis and the stables, and how much we loved to race the horses round the lake… but why is it that whenever I am troubled or worried, I always think of Anne?

  Eventually my eyes adjusted to the darkness and I was able to sit up and survey my surroundings. I realised that I must be in the stern of the boat by the steering mechanism. There was a short staircase of just a dozen steps with a handrail on one side, the entrance was through a trapdoor at the top of the stairs.

  Against the wall facing me, lobster pots were stacked floor to ceiling and to my left an assortment of fishing nets, some hanging from hooks and others thrown loosely on the deck, there was also a couple of logs that were obviously used as stools to sit on while mending nets.

  I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon, though I had no idea how I would get free to use one, or how I could ever expect to fight off two men and a boy who was likely to be a similar age to myself.

  Behind the staircase and on each side of the rudder there were two work benches; I could just make out what looked like a mallet which meant there would also be more carpenter’s tools and perhaps chisels.

  I was finding it harder to see and realised it must be early evening, perhaps five or six o’clock… very soon it would be night-time and I would be back in complete darkness again, so while I could see I concentrated on memorising as much as I could.

  I
heard footsteps on the deck above and then the boat started to move.

  Surely there was something I could do? No problem was insurmountable Thomas had often told me. Though I doubted he had ever found himself in the position I was now in.

  After a short while I could hear arguing and shouting on the deck above me, I could not make out what they were saying but it was mostly the voice of a woman screaming at a man.

  The trapdoor opened and a woman came down the steps followed by a boy of about my age. The woman was carrying a basket, the boy a lantern in one hand and a grappling hook (which I took to be a weapon) in the other.

  She removed my gag, untied my hands, and from a basket handed me a spoon and a bowl of vegetable broth. I wasn’t really hungry and my mouth was painful but I ate what I could and thanked her.

  ‘I am sorry my love… so sorry,’ she said as she offered me a drink, it was only water but it tasted like nectar of the Gods.

  I tried to speak but because of the injury to my face… what came out was just gibberish.

  The older man came down the stairs and sat on one of the logs.

  ‘You’re wasting your time woman he will be fish food within the hour, and why have you untied his hands?’

  His wife scowled at him, her eyes red from crying. ‘Where do you think the poor boy is going in this state? You disgust me… you really do.’

  ‘Look woman,’ he said holding up a large purse of money. ‘It would take us a year to earn this kind of money.’

  ‘Blood money you mean… well I want no part of it.’

  The older man then dropped the purse into the pocket of his jacket, retied my hands and then climbed the stairs, leaving the door open.

  The woman offered the water to me again and repeated, ‘I am so sorry my love, please forgive me?’

  She wiped the tears from her eyes on her pinny, and followed her husband up the stairs, her young son looked me in the eye but said nothing. He then threw the grappling hook in the corner with the other tools and followed his mother up the steps, closing the door behind him.

  Why would he do that, why would he deliberately leave me something that could be used as a weapon? Perhaps he is of the same mind as his mother, perhaps he thinks his father is disgusting, perhaps I have an ally.