by Jay Worrall
“Dead and injured?” Charles asked.
“Four injured, one serious,” Bevan said. “A landsman named Gates lost a leg. We got off a lot better than we…than you had any right to expect.”
“Nonsense,” Charles said with a straight face, “it was perfect planning.”
“Sure it was,” said Bevan grinned dubiously. “The best that can be said is that we haven’t sunk.”
“We hurt her, Daniel,” Charles said seriously. “For now, that’s enough.” To change the subject, he said, “You may pipe the hands to dinner, and as soon as there’s any wind we’ll make for Portsmouth for supplies and to have her bottom fixed.”
“Why Portsmouth, Charlie?” Bevan asked. “Why not Gibraltar?”
Charles cleared his throat. “Portsmouth is a little closer, and the wind favors it,” he said finally. “That’s in case anybody asks. Just between you and me,” he met Bevan’s eyes, “Admiral Jervis is likely to want to talk to me if we go to Gibraltar. He may not like what we’ve just done with the Spanish frigate, and he’s apt to change my orders. If we go to Portsmouth he won’t find out for a while. We have further business with the Santa Brigida.”
ST. CATHERINE’S POINT on the southern tip of the Isle of Wight showed first, a tiny speck off the port bow. Soon the Louisa was sailing large past the Foreland and into Spithead, where she dropped her best bower as near to the entrance to Portsmouth Harbor as the pilot would let her.
Charles was preparing to climb down into his gig to call on the Portsmouth dockyard admiral’s office when Winchester approached diffidently and touched his hat. “How long do you think we’ll be in harbor, sir?” he asked.
“I won’t know until after I talk to the admiral,” Charles answered. “As short a time as possible. A few weeks, I should think. Why?”
“May I have leave to go home, sir? I’d like to visit Ellie. I could be back in plenty of time.”
Charles had to think for a moment. He was sure that Winchester wanted very badly to see Ellie, but it just couldn’t be done. He only had two lieutenants, and he needed both to oversee the repairs and manage the men and the resupplying of the ship. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Winchester’s face fell.
“But, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You send for her and put her up in a good inn. I’ll give you permission to sleep on shore.” While the young lieutenant considered this, he added, “I’d like to see her, too. And, you can show her the ship. Ellie’s never been on a ship—she’d love it.”
“Do you think that would be all right?” Winchester said doubtfully. “I mean, she’d have to travel a long way and all.”
“I think it would be fine,” Charles said. “We can send Attwater along to accompany her if you like.”
“I think it would be better if she brought a maid,” Winchester said soberly.
“Good, then it’s settled.” Charles promptly climbed over the side into the waiting gig.
Charles called on the port admiral’s office and was directed to the captain superintendent of the dockyard. The man, one Thomas Bradley, was a kindly, slow-thinking gentleman with an open and friendly face who was more than happy to help but would not be hurried. He greeted Charles at nine-thirty in the morning with, “Madeira or sherry, sir?” His answer to every question seemed to be a sympathetic nod and “We’ll get to it just as soon as we can.”
Returning to the Louisa in a frustrated and slightly tipsy state, Charles found Bevan waiting for him as he climbed on board. “The men are requesting permission for wives and sweethearts, Charlie,” he said with a sour face. Since naval crews were almost never allowed shore leave while in an English port (for fear of desertion), it was a long-established custom to allow “wives and sweethearts” on board. Which were wives, which were sweethearts, and which were professional sweethearts of the moment one never knew—and, if a captain were wise, never asked. Charles shrugged his assent and went to his cabin. When he emerged a few hours later, the maindeck was crawling with drunken whores and sailors (the liquor having been smuggled on board by the women), many of whom were doing their business between the guns.
Charles retreated forthwith to the quarterdeck, followed closely by a pleasantly plump young woman with curly brown hair, a cheerful freckled face, and a turned-up nose. She was apparently ambitious, with higher aspirations than common sailors. When he stopped at his usual place by the starboard rail, she stepped in front of him, lifted her blouse to show her breasts, and said, “Fancy a fuck, Admiral?”
“Thank you, no,” Charles replied. He yelled, “Sergeant at arms! Show this young woman back to the maindeck and post guards on both ladderways. I want no unauthorized visitors on my quarterdeck.”
“My name’s Molly, Admiral,” the girl called as she was being led away. “You just ask for me.” Then, to the two marines pushing her along, she shouted, “Hey! Watch your hands, you short-peckered, ball-less faggots.” The last thing Charles heard was her asking her escorts, “Do either of you want a knob job? Five shillings. All right, three.” The only bearable thing about this, Charles thought, was that sooner or later the men would run out of money and the women would go away.
For the next several days Charles made regular visits to Captain Bradley’s office. “No,” Bradley explained patiently to one of Charles’s many pleas and suggestions, “it’s no good loading her victuals or powder and shot first. She’s got to be beached to fix her bottom, and she has to be empty to do that.”
“When will that be?” Charles had asked.
“Just as soon as we can get to it,” came the answer.
After four days in port, Charles noticed that Winchester was becoming increasingly distracted. Early that afternoon the lieutenant asked if he could have leave to meet the coach from Gloucester—the one that Ellie would most likely arrive on. Charles agreed, but Winchester returned in the evening empty-handed. The next day there was a similar request and a similar result. At the lieutenant’s third request in as many days Charles not only agreed, but, thinking it was the earliest coach that she might actually arrive on, suggested that he come along. He would enjoy seeing his sister, but most of all he wanted to hear what she had to tell him about Penny.
They took the Louisa’s gig to the point, then hired a carriage to take them up High Street to the George on Cambridge Road. The George was a tony inn with comfortable private rooms and a large public dining area catering to post captains, admirals, and their families. The two men lounged against the wall of the inn waiting for the Gloucester coach—Charles relaxed and in no hurry, Winchester in a high state of anxiety. Within a half-hour, to much honking of its horn, a coach-and-six clattered down the busy street and pulled to a stop in front of the inn. Winchester rushed forward to see if his wife was on board, while Charles hung back, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. He was therefore astonished when he saw that the first person to exit the coach was a Quaker woman in a plain brown dress and gray bonnet. He watched, rooted in place and his heart pounding, as Penny Brown lifted the front of her skirt with one hand and started down the steps placed in front of the coach door. She looked elegant, even dainty in her simple, modest clothing, and altogether beautiful. At the bottom of the steps she turned back to help Ellie descend.
Winchester arrived at the coach just as his wife stepped onto the street. Charles saw him say something to Penny and point in Charles’s direction before he and Ellie embraced. Charles started hesitantly forward, awkward and unprepared. Penny’s eyes soon picked him out, and she smiled with recognition, waiting as he approached.
“Good day to thee, Charles Edgemont,” she said, smiling brightly, her face radiant.
Charles stopped three feet in front of her, opened his mouth hoping to say something eloquent, but the best he could come up with was, “Penny? I didn’t expect…”
“Art thou not pleased I came?” she said, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.
He took a deep breath to regain his bearings. “No. Yes. I’m pleased.” H
e stumbled over the words. “I’m delighted, overwhelmed. I’m surprised. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I told thee that I would,” she said tersely.
Charles racked his brain but came up with nothing. He was fairly certain that she had never said she would visit him in Portsmouth or anywhere else.
“Charlie, Charlie!” Ellie cried, having disentangled herself from Winchester. She hugged Charles’s arm and exuberantly kissed his cheek. “Do you see who I brought? Isn’t it wonderful? And Penny told me she has an answer for you. I asked and asked, but she wouldn’t say what it was. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Oh,” Charles said. He remembered that Penny had promised an answer to his proposal that they marry when he returned from the sea. He had to say something to explain his mistake. “You see,” he said brightly, “I’m not really back.”
“But thou art in England,” Penny said, looking perplexed and a little embarrassed.
“Well, yes. In a manner of speaking. But, you see, we’re only in port for…” he began, feeling that somehow he’d gotten off on the wrong tack and everything had become jumbled and confused. This wasn’t what he wanted to be talking with her about at all. He stopped in midsentence, the essence of his sister’s words finally penetrating. “You have an answer for me?”
Penny lowered her eyes and nodded. “Yes, but not here,” she said. “There are too many people.”
“An answer to my proposal?” Charles persisted, wanting to be absolutely sure that he understood correctly.
“Yes, to thy proposal.” She glanced uncertainly at the crowd of people in the street, some of whom were looking curiously at them.
Charles stared into her eyes, oblivious to the world around him. “To marry?” he asked, anxious to nail down the last shred of doubt.
“Yes,” Penny said in exasperation, “to marry. And to marry thee, before thou asks that question. I have come with a solution to thy proposal for marriage between thee and me. But if thou wishes to hear it, we must go somewhere less public.”
“Of course,” Charles said, noticing increasing numbers of people dawdling around them. He took her arm and quickly led her to a less crowded place on the side of the road. “Penelope Brown,” he said very seriously, taking her hand and dropping to one knee. “Will you…can we…may I have your hand in marriage?” A number of the more curious passers-by had followed them to the side of the street to watch the unusual spectacle of a naval officer complete with sword and uniform in the obvious process of asking to marry a Quaker woman.
Penny glared at the faces gathering around them, then shrugged in resignation. She took his hand in both of hers and knelt in the dirt in front of him. “I have decided my answer,” she said in a whisper that, though intended to give them a measure of privacy, only caused some of the onlookers to lean closer. “I am very tender toward thee, Charlie. I would willingly go anywhere with thee, even to marriage.”
He bent forward to kiss her when he heard an onlooker say, “Oh, good on you, miss.” Someone clapped his hands and applause broke out around them. Charles was startled to see twenty or thirty people smiling and clapping heartily. The two immediately stood. Penny stared in embarrassed defiance while Charles raised his hat and waved it in happy victory to the crowd. She quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him away to go in search of Ellie and Winchester and her luggage.
ROOMS WERE ARRANGED at the George, one for Ellie and Winchester and another, smaller one for Penny. She would not allow Charles to pay for it. “It might give thee ideas,” she said firmly. That evening the four dined together in the public room. If Penny felt awkward or out of place in her plain clothing among the more gaily dressed admirals’ and captains’ wives, she did not show it. Midway through the meal she asked, “I was hoping that Ellie and I might visit thy naval craft.”
“Oh yes,” Ellie chimed in, “I’d love to see where my Stevie lives when he’s away from me.”
Winchester stared in dismay, first at his wife, then at Charles. “The women,” he mouthed. “Wives and sweethearts.”
“I’ll arrange it for tomorrow,” Charles answered with studied nonchalance. “Wives and sweethearts are permitted on board while we are in port, of course, so you may have company.” Penny and Ellie looked pleased, while Winchester slumped in his chair like a slowly sinking ship.
After dinner, and after Charles had suitably said good night to Penny, he returned to the Louisa alone. It was arranged that he would call for her and the Winchesters in the morning. As soon as he climbed aboard, he quickly surveyed the maindeck with its huddled, exhausted couples between the guns, and women’s clothing hung out on lines to dry in the night air. Well, he knew what to do about that, he thought. He had allowed the women on board, and he could order them off. He had done it before. He would have Bevan do it.
Charles found Daniel Bevan in what served as the officers’ wardroom, sharing a bottle of wine with the industrious half-dressed Molly (Eliot had the watch, such as it was), and put it to him directly. “Daniel, I want the whores off this ship first thing in the morning.”
Molly looked offended; Bevan kicked out a chair for Charles to sit in and pushed the wine bottle toward him. “Aye aye,” Bevan said, “which are the wives and sweethearts and which the whores?”
“I’m a sweetheart,” Molly chirped, “Daniel’s.”
“Aren’t they all?” Charles asked, ignoring the girl.
“Not me,” she insisted.
“I think some of them are actual wives,” Bevan said.
“And actual sweethearts,” said Molly.
“Then throw the rest of them off the ship,” Charles said.
“Mrs. Winchester will be visiting, I presume?” Bevan asked. “The men won’t like having their women taken away. Can’t she look from the shore?”
“No, she can’t,” Charles said. “I have agreed to allow her and Penny to visit the ship.”
“Who’s Penny?” Molly asked, interested.
“My fiancée,” Charles answered.
“Oh my, and congratulations. In that case I suppose we’ll have to do something,” Bevan agreed.
“Yes, but what?”
“Will you be, you know, doing the jig with her on board?” Molly asked with an understanding smile.
“No,” Charles said in annoyance.
“Then if it’s only for a little while,” she offered, “why don’t we have all the girls play at wives and sweethearts while she’s here? You know, proper-like.”
“I thought that’s what they were doing,” Charles said.
Molly laughed. “I mean proper-like, with no jigging,” she said. “I’ll fix it for you.”
Bevan gave Charles an amused, questioning look. “That should be interesting,” he said.
“It’ll work fine, I promise,” Molly insisted, and looked to Bevan for support.
“It would amuse the crew,” Bevan offered.
Against his better judgment, Charles took the path of least resistance. “All right,” he said, “but the laundry has to come down and no jigging. And no knob jobs either,” he added, just to be clear.
“Speaking of knob jobs, Admiral,” Molly offered brightly. Bevan gave her a warning glance and shook his head.
“What?” Molly protested. “He ain’t married yet.”
The next morning Charles left the Louisa amid a general bustle of cleaning, straightening, and the taking down of dried clothing. “Try and get them to dress a little more modestly,” he said to Bevan, nodding at some of the women down on all fours scrubbing the deck with their skirts hoisted up and their breasts swaying freely under loose blouses. Molly, meanwhile, bubbled around the deck talking to women and sailors alike. Charles shivered, then climbed down over the railing to his gig.
He collected Penny, Stephen, and Ellie at the George, and, taking as much time as he could, escorted them to the ship. A bosun’s chair had been rigged from the lower mainmast yard to sway the two women up. Charles and Winchester climbed up the side ladder.
The scene that greeted them was somewhat unusual.
The decks were immaculately clean, the brightwork gleamed, all the lines were neatly flaked, and there was no sign of laundry anywhere (except for a sleeve protruding from the muzzle of one gun, Charles noted). Numerous couples were strolling purposefully arm in arm along the maindeck, a scene of happy if somewhat formal domesticity, while those of the crew who didn’t have “wives” looked on seriously. Charles mentally compared the scene to the rhythmic heaving of naked buttocks between the guns of only a day or two before and was thankful. The men were dressed in their best uniforms and ribboned hats, the women at least better attired than before. Many were wearing sailors’ jerseys over their blouses, and a few had ducks from the purser’s slops under torn skirts. Some had applied liberal quantities of fresh make up.
Bevan and Molly were standing arm-in-arm on the quarterdeck, looking every inch the committed couple, when Charles and the others arrived. As Penny was lowered onto the deck, Charles saw Molly say something to Bevan and give him a push. The two descended the gangway together as if to greet invited guests. The sailors on deck tipped their hats with a serious, “How d’ ye do Cap’n, Lieutenant, Missus,” while the women attempted some form of curtsy. Charles had no idea how to reply, so he touched his hat and nodded wordlessly in return. Winchester looked stunned. Penny and Ellie responded with gracious, “Fine, thank yous,” and “Pleased to meet thees.”
Molly dragged Bevan over to them and curtsied rather too deeply, revealing almost all of her breasts. “Welcome to the Louisa,” she said effusively. “Ain’t Daniel and I pleased you could visit.”
“Thank you,” Penny said, dipping more modestly in return and looking around her, trying to take it all in. “Which are the wives and which are the sweethearts?” she asked too innocently.
“Them here are husband and wife,” Molly said, introducing the nearest couple. “Them’s Ned and Catherine, er, Jones. Over here,” pointing to another pair, “is Bob and Anne Smith. And that’s Bill and Betty Brown.” Charles winced.
