by Lance Morcan
For Captain Mathers, who had already lost a rigger overboard early in the voyage, the further loss of crew would require him to recruit replacement crewmembers from amongst the out-of-work seamen and various riffraff known to frequent Bata. Mathers was in no doubt he’d have his work cut out recruiting suitable replacements. The city had become a magnet for adventure-seekers, treasure and bounty hunters, former slave traders and other equally colorful individuals.
Among Minstrel’s wounded was Drake Senior who, at this moment, was fighting for his life in the stateroom he shared with Susannah. His chances of survival hadn’t been helped by the fact the brigantine had frustratingly remained becalmed for a further two days after the attack, thereby delaying her arrival at Bata.
None aboard Minstrel was more frustrated than Susannah. She had been toiling day and night, without rest, caring for her father. She’d been assisted, in her words, by an angel. That angel was one Nessie Finch, a middle-aged Englishwoman who was an experienced nurse. Miss Finch’s expert attention had kept Drake Senior alive over the long days and nights following the attack.
The clergyman’s injuries were severe. His attacker’s sword had left a diagonal wound across his abdomen so deep it had pierced his lower intestine. In addition to the trauma caused by the cut, he’d lost a lot of blood. Miss Finch had stemmed the blood loss and stitched the wound, but infection had set in.
As Minstrel berthed alongside the main wharf in Bata, Miss Finch turned to Susannah. “We must get him to the hospital immediately,” she urged. “I have done all I can for him.”
“Yes, Mister Kemp has already sent word,” Susannah advised, “and a carriage is standing by to transport papa to the hospital.” The hospital she spoke of was a former British infirmary – a remnant of Britain’s official presence here up to five years earlier. For fifteen years, Britain had occupied bases in Bata and on an offshore island to combat the slave trade that had thrived in this region.
As soon as Minstrel berthed, crewmembers carried Drake Senior above deck and onto the wharf where the waiting carriage transported him the two miles to the hospital. Susannah, Miss Finch and Kemp accompanied the patient.
Susannah was desperately worried. Her father seemed to be in a coma and was burning up with a fever. Miss Finch didn’t like the clergyman’s chances of survival, but said nothing. Kemp didn’t like Drake Senior’s chances either. He’d seen similar battle wounds, and he knew the signs to look for when death was approaching, but he, too, said nothing.
The young Englishwoman was too preoccupied watching over her father to observe her new surroundings. She left that to her companions who were intrigued by the colorful mix of nationalities on Bata’s streets. While Bantu was the predominant race, other native races were evident – some light-skinned, some dark. There was no sign of the original pygmies who had populated this region, but the results of European unions could be seen on every street corner. Many of these were of Spanish or Portuguese descent, and Spanish was the official language.
An unseasonal downpour drenched everyone not beneath some form of shelter, but no-one seemed to notice it even if the official wet season had ended almost three months earlier. They’d long-since learned to live with the torrential tropical downpours that seemingly arrived out of the blue and went away just as quickly every year. The unseasonal rain added to the humidity, and left streets and buildings steaming in the relentless heat.
Susannah and Miss Kemp were unaware that, despite the country’s name, no part of Equatorial Guinea was located on the equator. In fact, it lay north of the equator. Not that they’d have noticed any difference: to these fair English damsels, the heat felt decidedly tropical.
On arrival at the hospital, the visitors were pleasantly surprised to find several English doctors and nurses on the hospital’s staff. Kemp was able to pull some strings and secure a private room for Drake Senior.
After the wounded clergyman had been officially admitted, Miss Finch and Kemp bade Susannah farewell and returned to the brigantine. They’d tried to persuade her to return with them, but she’d insisted on remaining at her father’s bedside. Before leaving, Kemp assured Susannah that Minstrel wouldn’t depart Bata until her father was well enough to travel. Susannah was mightily relieved to hear that.
As soon as the pair had departed, Susannah settled into a bedside chair, pulled her trusty diary from her overnight bag and prepared to start writing. She had a lot of writing to do as this was the first free time she’d had since the pirate attack.
May 27th, 1848
Our voyage aboard Minstrel has gone from bad to worse. After being becalmed in the Gulf of Guinea for what seemed like a month, but was in fact one week, we were attacked by pirates. Our brave menfolk fought them off, but we lost seven good souls in the process. Some were married with children. I do feel so for their families.
Poor papa suffered a grave sword wound to his abdomen. My dear friend Miss Finch has worked tirelessly day and night to keep him alive thus far. I call her my angel. Miss Finch has been a great comfort to all the wounded and her nursing experience has been well received by all who have needed care. Helping her has given me at least a basic understanding of nursing and taught me some rudimentary nursing skills, which no doubt will stand me in good stead.
Now that papa is in hospital in Bata, there is nothing more we can do for him. His future is in the doctors’ hands, and in God’s.
After the attack, there was much conjecture over where the ruffians came from. The first mate thought they may have come from the Barbary Coast, but the captain thought they were too far south to hail from that notorious coastline.
There was conjecture also over the whereabouts of the escaped felon – for I am sure that is what he is – John Donovan during the attack. One of the crew accused him of hiding below deck. The crewman suffered a black eye as a result of that accusation and Mr Donovan was incarcerated in the hold for the second time on this voyage. We shall never know if he did hide, but it is interesting that he is the only man on board who did not suffer so much as a single scratch.
I hope never to witness as much sorrow as I have in the past week. The burial of so many at sea was a mournful thing indeed. It fell upon Harold Simpson, who acquitted himself so well by all accounts during the violence, to officiate at the burials. He did us a great service, bless him. These last few days, Minstrel has been as quiet and as gloomy as a morgue – for that is what she was for a while.
Suddenly the relentless heat and the stench of bilgewater seem such trifling matters when compared to the losses suffered by others. I pray for papa’s speedy recovery.
#
One week later, Drake Senior made a recovery the doctors described as nothing short of a miracle. His fever had abated within two days of his being admitted to hospital. The infection had disappeared from his system three days later and, though still very weak, his wound was healing nicely. His dramatic recovery meant the brigantine could depart Bata not too far behind schedule. The short delay was actually welcomed by Kemp as it enabled him to comfortably attend to all official business engagements the British Army had arranged for him in the city.
Susannah was delighted and relieved at her father’s speedy recovery. Despite what Kemp had promised, she’d had visions of Minstrel departing Bata while Drake Senior rotted away in hospital.
Captain Mathers had made good use of the enforced layover in port by recruiting replacements for the four crewmembers he’d lost. More correctly, his first mate Fred Paxton recruited the replacements. Mathers had quickly fallen back into his familiar ways and ensconced himself in his cabin with several bottles of his favourite whisky. He’d rarely been seen outside his cabin in the past four days, and then it was only to grab a breath of fresh air before disappearing inside again.
It was late afternoon when Drake Senior and Susannah arrived by carriage at the wharf. Susannah helped her father gingerly disembark from the carriage then assisted him onto Minstrel’s deck. Their arrival coincided with th
e first mate briefing the newly recruited crewmembers on their duties.
Of the four crewmembers Paxton had hired, only three had shown up. One of them, a young, golden-haired English lad who had been taken on as a rigger, caught Susannah’s eye. The two exchanged a glance as Susannah escorted Drake Senior slowly along the deck. Susannah couldn’t resist a glance back at him as she led her father below deck. The rigger flashed a smile her way and she felt her heart skip a beat.
As father and daughter shuffled slowly toward their stateroom, Susannah lectured him on what he could and could not do. “Now papa, Miss Finch said you must remain in bed, or you could have a relapse.”
“Yes, dear,” Drake Senior said patiently.
“And Miss Finch said you must keep your fluid intake up. Furthermore, you really must try to eat.”
“Let me guess who said that,” Drake Senior chuckled. “Miss Finch?”
Susannah smiled despite herself. Though her father made jokes about Miss Finch, she knew he held her in the highest regard – as he should. After all, she’d saved his life. “Yes, it was Miss Finch as a matter of fact. And she speaks a lot of sense does Miss Finch.”
“Yes dear.”
#
The shadows were lengthening when Minstrel sailed out of the port. Ahead of her, all going well, was a three-week journey to the next port of call, Cape Town, in Cape Colony. There, Minstrel’s passengers and crew would enjoy a ten-day stopover in preparation for the dangerous leg that would see them sail through the Roaring Forties to Van Diemen’s Land, south of New South Wales, before crossing the Tasman Sea to New Zealand.
#
After dinner that evening, Susannah ventured out on deck alone. She stood at the port-side rail watching Africa’s west coast pass by as Minstrel sailed ever south. The rugged coastline slowly became indistinguishable from the sky as darkness fell.
A noise behind her alerted Susannah that she wasn’t alone. She turned to see the Irish troublemaker John Donovan leering at her.
“Ah, so you got me message,” Donovan said mischievously.
“What message?” Susannah hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.
Donovan suddenly grabbed her. “That we meet here in private.” Laughing, he tried to kiss her.
Susannah slapped his face. This only served to galvanize the Irishman who forcibly kissed her.
Before Donovan could have his way with Susannah, the golden-haired rigger she’d seen earlier appeared from nowhere. He pulled Donovan off her. “Leave the lady alone!” he said threateningly.
Donovan threw a punch, which the rigger easily avoided.
The rigger flashed a disarming smile at Donovan. “Are you sure you want to be doing that now?”
The Irishman hesitated, momentarily confused by the handsome young man who had pushed in where he wasn’t wanted and had interposed himself between him and the young woman he lusted after.
Susannah could see Donovan desperately wanted to maintain his macho reputation, but he also valued his physical wellbeing. There was something about the rigger that Susannah sensed was dangerous, and her antagonist sensed it too.
“I’ll see you later,” Donovan promised the pair before slinking off into the night.
Susannah watched him go. She turned back to thank her rescuer, but he’d returned to work and was already half way up the near mast. He stopped climbing when he reached the first cross-spar, and looked down at Susannah.
“Thank you, kind sir!” she called out to him.
The rigger waved at her then resumed climbing. Susannah watched him for as long as she thought proper then retired below deck for the night.
Try as she may, she couldn’t get the rigger out of her mind. He was the first man she’d really been attracted to since she’d lost her first love, chimneysweep Blake Dugan, back in Kensington.
#
That night, Susannah dreamed of the golden-haired rigger who had come to her rescue. She dreamt he took her in his arms and taught her the art of lovemaking. The dream was so vivid that when she finally awoke next morning she would feel as though she’d just lost her virginity.
27
Sydney Town, 1841
Jack’s plans to stow away aboard a ship bound for New Zealand or the Pacific Islands were about to be put on hold. He didn’t know it yet, but he would soon.
After a good night’s sleep in his private room at the Todds’ boarding house, the accommodating Joan Todd put her new employee to work, replacing aged and faulty door hinges throughout the two-storied establishment. It was light and easy work, and Jack toiled as speedily as he could in order to make a good first impression. In fact, he’d already made a good impression, though not for the reason he thought.
Late morning saw him replacing the hinges on Jim Todd’s bedroom door. The room’s single bed gave away the fact that he and his wife had separate bedrooms. Jack would learn later the couple had slept apart since arriving in the colony two years earlier.
Considering it was a full house with no vacancies, the establishment seemed unnaturally quiet. Jack realized the boarders must be out, laboring at their respective workplaces. In fact, most were out job hunting, either in town or down at the docks, for employment was harder to find than usual due to a recent influx of new arrivals from the home country.
The silence was broken when arguing erupted from the upstairs kitchen. The Todds were at each other, and not for the first time since Jack’s arrival. Joan could be heard telling her husband off for drinking too often and too heavily. Jim countered that he’d only had one drink that morning, but it was obvious to Jack that he’d had more than one: he was already slurring his words.
“Why don’t ye go to bed and take your gin bottle with you?” Joan snapped. It was more an order than a question.
Jack heard Jim mumble something. Moments later, the henpecked, drunken husband emerged from the kitchen. Gin bottle in hand, he stormed past Jack and slammed his bedroom door shut, leaving the young Cockney out in the hallway.
Joan emerged from the kitchen. “I’m sorry ye had to hear that,” she said.
“No problem,” Jack responded as cheerily as he could. “I’ll carry on downstairs.” He gathered up his tools and headed for the staircase.
“Before ye go,” Joan said.
Jack stopped and turned around.
“There’s something I need ye to attend to upstairs,” she said.
Jack saw the familiar twinkle in her eye and wondered what she had planned for him. “Yes Ma’am.” He followed her to her bedroom. As he walked, Jack could feel his excitement rising. He looked down and realized that wasn’t all that was rising.
Joan’s bedroom was conveniently located on the far side of the establishment, well away from her husband’s room. When she opened the door, Jack was pleasantly surprised to see the room accommodated a double bed. And not just any double bed; it was a grand four-poster complete with lace drapes and other feminine decorations.
No sooner had Jack entered the room than Joan closed the door and locked it. If there was ever any doubt about her intentions, that doubt had now vanished. Jack grinned at the saucy Welshwoman and waited for her to make the next move.
“Why don’t ye make yourself comfortable on the bed?” she suggested.
Grinning, Jack pulled the lace drapes aside and stretched out on the bed. Across the room, Joan disappeared behind a screen and began undressing. She emerged wearing a revealing nightgown that barely contained her fulsome, mature figure.
Jack forgot all about Mary O’Brien at that moment.
What followed seemed like a dream. Joan glided over to the bed, undressed Jack and then began kissing him all over. He quickly established she was an expert and experienced lover. While he knew a thing or two about the art of lovemaking, he felt like a student as she went to work on him.
Jack didn’t know it, but Joan was as excited as her young lover. The months that had passed since she last made love seemed more like years, and she felt she was ready to burst.
She mounted Jack and, sitting astride him, began pleasuring herself quite unabashedly.
They were so excited they quickly came together in a frenzied tangle of sweaty arms and legs.
As Jack regained his breath, he realized they’d somehow ended up on the floor. One of the bed’s drapes had been torn loose and it now covered them like a sheet. He started chuckling. Joan saw the funny side, too, and soon they were both laughing out loud.
#
So began a new chapter in Jack’s life. His days, and occasionally his nights, were filled with lovemaking sessions with his sexy employer.
Plans to stow away were shelved, for the moment at least, because he was enjoying himself too much. Joan was proving to be an insatiable lover. She was like a drug to Jack – a drug he couldn’t get enough of. All rational thought went out the window.
28
Makah Nation, West Coast, North America, 1842
Nathan estimated he’d paddled about half a mile from the village when he steered the canoe toward the rocky shoreline on the eastern side of Neah Bay. Stopping alongside a large rock, he threw his backpack onto it then proceeded to attack the bottom of the canoe with his tomahawk. In no time, he’d smashed a gaping hole in its timbers.
The young Philadelphian jumped onto the rock and watched as the sabotaged canoe sank from sight. Satisfied he’d left no trace, he scrambled over the rocks and disappeared into the trees.
Nathan headed east toward Whale Bay and the schooner he hoped was anchored there. Resisting the temptation to run, he walked briskly, taking care not to leave any tracks. For the first three or four hundred yards, he used a shrubby branch to cover any tracks he happened to leave. This slowed his progress, but he figured it would help his chances of remaining undiscovered.
