Shadow of the Boyd

by Diana Menefy

  For my grandsons:

  Jacob, Rhys, Ryan, Declan, Ethan and Byron

  Contents

  THE SHIPS AND KEY CHARACTERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  GLOSSARY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  THE SHIPS AND KEY CHARACTERS

  On the Boyd — brigantine

  Crew

  Captain Thompson — commander of the Boyd

  Mr Strunk — first mate*

  Mr Pritchard — second mate†

  Bo’sun

  Jonas — sail-maker*

  John Bowen — second-year apprentice*

  Will Green — new apprentice*

  Thomas Davidson — new apprentice

  George — Te Aara; New Zealand crew member picked up in Sydney

  Soldiers of 73rd

  Captain Cameron

  Lieutenants Pike and Wright

  Drust Maclachlin (Mac)*

  Passengers

  Mrs Ann Morley — one of the survivors

  Baby Ann — one of the survivors

  Betsy Broughton — one of the survivors

  Anne Glossop — Betsy’s mother

  Captain Burnside — retired sailing captain

  On the City of Edinburgh — barque

  Crew

  Mr Alexander Berry — part-owner and supercargo

  Captain Patterson — commander of the City of Edinburgh

  James Russell — first mate

  Mr Cowper — second mate†

  Mr Barton — third mate

  Macduff — most experienced seaman on Thomas’s (starboard) watch*

  McGavey — crew member*

  Kee — apprentice in his final year*

  Duncan — apprentice*

  Metanangha — native, friend of Mr Berry

  Teraaki — native, friend of Mr Berry

  Doc — cook

  Other characters

  Mr George Brown — owner of the Boyd

  Mr Lord — owner of most of the cargo from the Boyd, and also owner of two other ships, the Star and the Commerce

  * Fictitious characters

  † Fictitious names for real people

  CHAPTER ONE

  10 January 1810, on the City of Edinburgh — anchored in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand

  They are all dead. All the crew are dead except for me.

  And I’d probably be dead too if it wasn’t for Mr Berry rescuing us — Mrs Morley, baby Ann, little Betsy, and me. We’re safe now on the City of Edinburgh, and soon we’ll sail for home.

  The City of Edinburgh is a barque and smaller than the Boyd, a lot older, too, and not in such good condition — before the fire, that is. There are already two apprentices on board; Mr Berry says I’m to share their duties, but he also said that whenever things are quiet he expects me to report to the great cabin and write my account of what happened.

  I don’t like writing, but he wants my story for Mr Brown, the owner of the Boyd. Mr Berry writes every day, and he reckons if I do it like that, a bit at a time, it will be easier. I wrote those two sentences — and then I couldn’t think what to say next. I was still staring at the blank page an hour later when Mr Berry came back.

  ‘Start at the beginning with your name,’ he said. ‘Tell me about the voyage — just the important bits until you get to when the trouble started.’

  So that’s what I’m doing.

  My name is Thomas Davidson. I come from Romford, London. I went to sea as an apprentice on the brigantine Boyd, early in the summer of 1809. Da paid my indenture fee to the Boyd’s owner, Mr George Brown, and I promised to faithfully serve him while being taught the business of a seaman. I was proud to belong to the Boyd.. She was a fine ship, a three-decker with two masts, Thames-built and top-rated.

  There were three of us apprentices: John Bowen, who was in his second year; and me and Will Green, both new. John took us down to the fo’c’sle to stow our sea chests. The air was musty and the light dim. I was to share a hammock with John, who was on the opposite watch. He must have noticed the dismayed expression on my face because he laughed. Then John showed us around the ship, starting with the empty hold and finishing on the quarter-deck where we were put to work caulking the deck. That’s pushing lumps of tarred cotton fibres between gaps in the planks, then thumping them into place with a sort of hammer to stop the seawater leaking through.

  That night I lay in the hammock and stared up at the thick wood beams that stretched across under the decking, and for the first time noticed the stains. In the dark they looked like water marks. I reached out and slid my fingers across one — smooth and oily. I sniffed my fingers, but all I could smell was tar. The hammock rocked ever so slightly as the ship moved with the river, and I soon drifted into sleep.

  We sailed from London on the full tide early next morning. It was 3 March 1809. Will and I were on the larboard watch under Mr Strunk, the first mate. As the ship moved down the river, I stopped work to watch the buildings slip by.

  ‘Stop slackin’ there!’ Bo’sun’s voice caught me by surprise.

  I dropped back down to the deck and carried on pounding the caulking cotton into the seams with the iron.

  Will was using the mallet, not far from me. As Bo’sun moved away, Will looked up and grinned.

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever get the tar off our fingers?’

  ‘Better tar than ink. I’d hate to be cooped up inside all day like Da is.’

  ‘Yeah — me, too. I want to see the world.’ Will looked up at the sailors on the foot-ropes by the yards. ‘I wonder how long it’ll be before we get up there,’ he said.

  I caught the words drifting down: ‘Yo! Ho! Away to sea we’ll go …’, and with the wind flicking my hair and the slap of the water against the hull, the adventure started.

  My good mood lasted until we hit open waters, when the heave of the ocean had me clinging to the side.

  Over the next two days I retched until my throat was raw and my ribs ached. At night, between watches, I lay on my hammock longing for the quiet comfort of my own bed. The ship never stopped shouting — the timbers creaked, the wind boomed in the canvas, and the blocks on the deck rattled.

  On top of that, the bell rang every half-hour, starting at the beginning of the watch with one ding and building to eight at the end. I would doze off, then jerk awake with the ring. At eight bells, when the watch changed, I’d stagger up on deck while John headed for the hammock. He slapped me on my shoulder as he passed, told me the sickness would go and I’d get my sea legs soon. I didn’t believe him.

  By the time we dropped anchor at Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight, two days later, I was ready to abandon ship. Will insisted that I’d feel better once I’d eaten. He was right.

  We’d stopped at Yarmouth to load a contingent of soldiers with their gear and supplies. Will and I watched as they marched on board — thirty-three of them, their buttons shining, all wearing tall, black hats and long, grey coats and carrying knapsacks. Will sniggered and the soldier at the back turned to glare at us. He didn’t look much older than me. The officer in front bellowed orders, and the soldiers halted on the quarter-deck and stood at ease.

  ‘Looks like a stovepipe to me,’
Will said, as some of the men removed their hats.

  ‘With a feather on top.’ I grinned, happy to be feeling better. We were close to the young soldier and he obviously heard our comments. He swung around to face us.

  ‘Awa’ an’ bile yer heid, Sassenach!’

  ‘Just jokin’,’ Will said, taking a step back. We looked at each other and laughed at the soldier’s accent.

  ‘Did you understand a word?’ Will asked.

  ‘Boil your head. He told you to go away and boil your head,’ I laughed.

  ‘Good to see you lads making friends.’ Mr Strunk had come up behind us. ‘Green, Davidson, you can give a hand to stow some of this gear. Captain Cameron and Lieutenants Pike and Wright will be in the spare cabin below the quarter-deck. You can deliver the trunks there.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  It took a day to load and store all the supplies. The rank-and-file soldiers were bunked ‘tween-decks, their equipment stashed in every available space there. I thought it was strange that the hold was left empty until John told me our next stop would be to pick up a load of convicts.

  By the time we sailed again my stomach had settled, and the weaving of the ship, the noise, even the ship’s bell, had dropped into the background. Walking around the capstan singing a shanty as we weighed the anchor, I felt like part of the crew for the first time.

  ‘This is the life,’ I said to Will, who was next to me. Will nodded. His face was red with exertion, his black hair blowing to the side in the breeze. That evening, while we sat on our sea chests in the fo’c’sle eating a boiled mush of beef, potatoes and turnips, we found out that the soldiers were there to act as guards, to keep us sailors safe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  January 1810, on the City of Edinburgh — crossing the South Pacific Ocean

  The weather had been perfect for sailing all the past week, with warm days and a fair wind. The sea was a deep blue as far as I could see, and the glare of the sun sparkling on it made my eyes water at times. I was not crying. Even though New Zealand was well out of sight, when I shut my eyes at night I kept hearing the sounds of the massacre in my head and seeing the bodies. I must have called out one night, because Macduff thumped me and threatened to toss me out the next time I woke him up.

  Macduff was the most experienced seaman on our watch and did more tricks at the wheel than the other seamen. He went around with a stained clay pipe clamped in the corner of his mouth. When he took it out I saw that it fitted through the dark hole of a missing tooth.

  I was now on the starboard watch with Duncan, the younger apprentice under the second mate. Duncan seemed friendly enough. His voice had the same soft accent as Mac, one of the soldiers from the Boyd. The older apprentice, Kee, had a bullying manner that made me clench my fists. His face was pitted, he had tattoos on both his arms, and his hands were stained with tar. Most of the time I had little to do with Kee — he was on the port watch under Mr Russell. Mr Russell might be an old man, but he was spry and took no nonsense. Kee had almost finished his apprenticeship, so he took his turn at the wheel. He wasn’t as good as the others and got yelled at when the sails shivered. I heard Mr Russell tell him it takes a while to get the feel of the ship. I can’t wait until I’m allowed to try.

  The third mate, Mr Barton, had given up his cabin for Mrs Morley, Ann and Betsy, the only other survivors. Mrs Morley always had a cheerful word and smile for me now. She said I looked grand in my new clothes. I knew she was making fun, because the trousers were too short in the legs and bagged around my waist. I’d kept my own shirt. It had just needed washing.

  It didn’t take long for me to get used to being back on board. The ringing of the ship’s bell, the creak of the rigging and the flap of the sails at night soothed me to sleep. The only blots on my days were the times Kee managed to poke me with his sharp elbow, his sneers, and the way he always seemed to be there when the tears came to my eyes. He was forever calling me ‘cry-baby’, even when I wasn’t.

  I didn’t know why he had it in for me. Maybe it was just his nature to be nasty. A scruffy wave of reddish hair shadowed his top lip, and when he wasn’t talking his mouth had a discontented droop. I was studying him once when he looked up, caught my eye and glared. I smiled, knowing that it would irritate him. Da always said that the best way to handle a bully was to be friendly, but when Kee taunted me I would feel my fingers curling into a fist.

  Mr Berry was often at his table in the great cabin, reading or writing, when I went in. His nose was long and his mouth straight above a square chin — a harsh-looking face. At first I was wary of him but Duncan said he was a ‘good un’ and told me that most of the crew liked Mr Berry. He was one of the owners of the ship and also supercargo. That’s the person who organizes, buys and trades all the cargo.

  Duncan told me that Mr Berry had been a ship’s surgeon and had given up being a doctor because of the brutal floggings. While they might get flogged, the sailors knew their backs wouldn’t be shredded on this ship.

  Instead of a cabin boy Mr Berry had a Bengalese servant. The crew were a motley lot from all over the place — England, Scotland, Ireland, South Africa, The Netherlands and even China. One of the blacksmiths and the carpenter were Chinese. Duncan reckoned that my being the only surviving crew member from the Boyd made me famous and that was why Kee was being a pest.

  I didn’t feel famous. Sometimes I felt lucky — thankful to be safe, and grateful to Mr Berry for rescuing me. But most of the time, thinking about Will and John, I wondered why it had happened to us. Why were they dead? They didn’t deserve to die. The image of John’s mutilated head and Will’s grey face shouting ‘Hide!’ haunted me, and I felt guilty.

  I was glad Captain Thompson was dead. Bo’sun, too — he had flogged George with every bit of strength he had, making sure the cat-o’-nine-tails sliced the flesh with each stroke.

  Mr Berry was different from anyone on the Boyd. He had this big collection of books on the shelves in the great cabin. I was inspecting them one afternoon and thought he must still be interested in doctoring because there were medical books there. Some of the books were pretty weird for a sailor. One had a worn backing and faded title that looked like The Adventures of Roderick Random by Tobias Smollett, a strange title for a grown-up. I was about to pull it out for a closer look when Mr Berry came in. I leapt back into my chair.

  ‘I was just looking — I didn’t touch anything.’

  ‘You can read it if you want,’ he said, and came over and pulled the book out. ‘It’s a good yarn. I read it when I was your age.’ He put the book down on the desk beside me. ‘Just take great care of it. My father gave it to me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, and the tears welled in my eyes. Da had given me my own copy of Gulliver’s Travels to take on the Boyd. I was halfway through reading it for the second time when we reached Wangaroa. It was like having Da with me. I could hear his voice in my head as I read the words, and could picture him sitting by the fire reading it aloud to me and Pete. I guess the book got burnt. Swallowing hard, I willed the tears to go away. I hated the way they would catch me by surprise. Mr Berry just kept on talking.

  ‘When I was a boy I always wanted to be like Smollett. He studied medicine at Edinburgh University and served as a surgeon’s mate in the navy before writing about his adventures in that book. What about you, Thomas? Did you always want to go to sea?’

  I shook my head. I’d spent holidays on my uncle’s farm in Southminster and had been quite happy to work with him until my cousins grew up. Then one day we’d made a trip to the sea. I’d never seen blue like it — stretching and linking to the sky. My uncle stopped the cart, and my cousins raced off along the stones, chasing the gulls, yelling at me to follow. But I strode down to water’s edge and breathed in the salt tang of the seaweed.

  I could still remember standing, water lapping at my boots, and staring at the outline of a distant ship gliding with the wind in her sails. It seemed to me the waves were calling my name: Thom … as,
Thom … as.

  Back home I pestered Da until he paid for my apprenticeship, and I joined the Boyd.

  Mr Berry’s voice broke into my memories. ‘Come on, Thomas, enough daydreaming. You’d better get on.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  I read the last few sentences I’d written, picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink and continued with my story.

  We anchored in the Cove of Cork in Ireland, on 8 March 1809. There we took on one hundred and thirty-seven convicts. I watched as they shuffled up the gangway, chains rattling, their clothes torn and shabby, their faces sullen. Some of the men didn’t look much older than me, and I found it hard to believe they were hardened criminals — but the soldiers were taking no chances, using their bayonets to herd them below decks and into the hold.

  Mr Pritchard said most of them were political prisoners, men who disagreed with the way the English ruled their country. Some of them were there for stealing food for their families. He said it was better not to think about it. I think he felt sad, too. It was strange that night, lying in my bunk, hearing noises coming from the hold — chains moving, coughs, and the odd loud curse.

  The next day, Will and I leant on the gunwale until the green mass of Ireland faded to grey. We were off watch, and so long as we stayed out of everyone’s way we could do as we please. I liked chasing the colours of the sea as it moved around us, the white whirls swallowed into the trail of blue-green. Will had a pack of cards and some dice. We were evenly matched and it was good fun. My brother and sisters are younger than me and didn’t present much of a challenge at cards, and dice weren’t allowed at home.

  The Boyd was running with the trade winds northeast towards the equator — Mr Strunk told me that. He stopped now and then to talk to Will and me. He was a big man. His hair stuck out the sides of his cap. John said he was bald on top. I liked him. He didn’t mind if I asked questions, although most of the time he turned them around and made me sort out the answers for myself. Da used to do that, too.