“I’d kill you if you try it. Too dangerous for both of us. I want no questions asked and I’ll forget I ever knew you. You do the same if you’re wise. People have long memories and some can remember faces even after years have passed.”
“I won’t then. I’ve enough enemies who want to shoot me without adding you to the collection. Let’s do what we have to do now and the day we get out will come sooner for both of us.”
“You shouldn’t go bang up to strange men in the street, Miss Lucy. You could get into terrible trouble acting like that,” Lenny protested as soon as he could.
“I know, but I thought I knew him. If it wasn’t him, then he has a double. I’ve wanted to see him again for ages.”
“Well, it wasn’t him, so let’s get back to the ship now. The tide will be turning and it’s an easier row out to the mooring if we go at slack water.”
“Will you take me ashore again tomorrow, if I promise not to do anything silly ever again?” Lucy asked.
“I will, if Captain Hardie lets me,” Lenny agreed.
The next morning, however, it was raining hard. Watching the raindrops bounce off the deck, Lucy decided that she did not want to risk a soaking and having to dry her clothes or wear them wet. It was boring to do nothing, so she was relieved when the ship left on the afternoon tide with a fair wind blowing them in the right direction. Captain Hardie told her that he hoped to make Plymouth late the following day.
“That is our last stop before Cove,” he said. “We won’t be there long, I hope, unless the wind changes. We’ve made good speed so far.”
Lucy was denied her usual spot on deck, due to the inclement weather. So she spent some of her time in the saloon, trying to read a book of sermons Mr. Anselm had left on the table. She did not find it very interesting and kept getting distracted. She found herself thinking over her encounter of the previous day. Had there been a spark of recognition in the young man’s eyes when he turned to face her, or had she imagined it? No, it must not have been him, she thought, or surely he would have admitted it. What reason could he have for not acknowledging me? I have never done him any harm.
When she could not bear her thoughts any longer, she left the stern cabin and stood on deck under the overhang of the poop. It was not a very comfortable refuge. The wind often blew great streamers of rain in her direction and the old boat cloak which Mrs. Hardie had lent her was soon dripping. It was a difficult, uncomfortable day and Lucy was glad when it was over. She went early to bed and not even her disappointment kept her from falling asleep.
It was late the next day when the White Hart crept into Plymouth Sound, tacking across the water. The mate, Mr. Barnes, told her the wind had changed and was becoming foul.
“With luck, we’ll get in tonight but if it backs any more, we’ll have to anchor up until it goes around again.”
This indeed proved to be their fate and the great mounds of chain rattled down onto the seabed to hold the brig firm against the tug of the tide. It was a bumpy anchorage with little protection. This time, however, Lucy found that the motion of the ship did not upset her quite as much as it had when she first came aboard. She was able to eat her supper and converse with the others. She made her toilette and climbed into her bunk with more skill than she would have believed possible a day or so ago.
A clanking and shouting woke her up and, throwing her boat cloak over her shoulders, she hurried up on deck to find out what was happening. Bars had been thrust into the openings of the great capstan and several of the sailors circled around, pushing hard against them. The piles of green chain rose from the sea and disappeared into the gaping chain-locker.
“There you are,” Captain Hardie said. “We can go into the harbour now, once the anchor is up. Stay and watch. Plymouth and Devonport Dockyard will be fine sights to see on a morning like this.”
Indeed they were, for the sun was shining and the sky was again blue. Ships came out of the port while others including the White Hart went in. Plymouth from the water seemed to be a smaller city than Portsmouth but Lucy had no chance to visit it. Immediately the brig made fast to a buoy, lighters came round the side and goods were transferred swiftly and efficiently. The whole operation was finished before the tide turned again so the brig was able to make her way back out of the harbour on the ebb. Lucy watched Plymouth receding with a certain amount of pleasure. Not long now. The next stop would be Cove where her journey would end.
All went well and they made good speed until they were almost opposite Falmouth. Then the wind died away completely and the ship was left to wallow in the waves, the sails flapping despondently. The motion was different and it drove Lucy back to her pile of ropes.
“Keep your eyes on the horizon and you’ll feel more the thing,” Mr. Barnes told her. “There’ll be a breeze before long, don’t you worry. Then we’ll be on our way again.”
“How do you know there’ll be wind?” Lucy asked.
“Look up at those clouds up there.” He pointed out swirls of white against the blue. “Those are mares’ tails those are. When you see them, it’s a sure sign that there’s wind coming. It’ll be with us before nightfall, unless I miss my guess.”
Mr. Barnes was proved right. An offshore breeze began to blow just as the last of the daylight was fading. The sails filled and the waves started to dance under the prow of the brig. The familiar ship noises started to sound again. Happy to be moving, Lucy made her way below to the saloon for the evening meal.
“If this wind strengthens,” Captain Hardie said, “we should be in Cove by this time tomorrow. I wager you’ll be glad enough to see the end of this voyage.”
“I certainly shall,” the curate, Mr. Anselm replied. “Although unfortunately I have another day aboard before we reach Dublin.” He had spent most of his time below in his cabin or the saloon, rarely venturing up on deck. Lucy realised she had not seen him except at meals, when he had eaten very little. A dull companion, she thought, and obviously not a good sailor. She felt rather proud that she had managed better than he had in a difficult situation.
“I’ve enjoyed the voyage,” Lucy said, surprising herself, “once I found my balance. It’s all so new and so many things happen at once. I like seeing different places although I never thought I would.”
Captain Hardie and his wife laughed. “We’ll make a sailor of you yet, young lady. Tell me when you want to venture on the sea again.”
Captain Hardie’s estimate that they would reach Ireland the next day went unfulfilled. When Lucy came on deck in the morning, it was to find that the brig had been blown in a south easterly direction. The wind was strong and the waves were choppy. Both Captain Hardie and Mr. Barnes looked concerned, glancing at the sails and shouting orders. Sailors stationed at the ropes kept pulling them tighter as the helm was put over and the ship changed tack. Lucy overheard the captain and the mate discussing what to do.
“She won’t head up any further. We’ll have to keep tacking,” Mr. Barnes said.
“The more times we tack, the more the leeway and the tide take us further towards France. That’s the real danger, of course,” Captain Hardie replied. “We must either go onto a reach and try to weather the islands or heave to until the tide turns. Then we may at least have a chance to make some northing. If we do nothing, we’ll be in French waters before you can say ‘Napoleon Bonaparte’.”
“Well, Captain, if you’re asking me for an opinion,” Mr. Barnes said, “I’d heave to. On this sort of a following sea we’d be rolling about like a ball in these waves. I don’t know if the spars will take the strain for long. If we lose any of them, we’ll drift right into Saint-Malo and there won’t be much we can do about it.”
Captain Hardie nodded. “I agree with you. We’ll heave to. Give the orders.”
The wheel was put over and one of the foresails pulled into a strange angle, to Lucy’s eyes at least. All the other sails were furled. The ship bobbed, as if it was at anchor, rotating around a central point, or so Lucy was told
later. She could not see for herself because there was no land in sight to measure their direction. The coast was once again covered in a white mist. When everything had been done and the Captain was standing still on the poop, Lucy went up to him. She ventured to ask in a small voice,
“What is the danger you are afraid of, Captain?”
Captain Hardie swung around. “I didn’t mean you to overhear that.”
“I’d rather know what’s really happening than imagine dreadful things. Please would you tell me?”
“Very well. If you look over there to the south, you would see the coast of France except for this mist. To the west is Brittany and sticking out to our right, though that’s not visible either, is the Normandy peninsular. Between them lies the town of Saint-Malo. It used to be a fishing port and had a good trade once, now it’s a nest of those privateers which Boney sends out to rob our ships. We’re a bit too close inshore for my liking at the moment with this wind blowing us further in. That’s why we’re sitting still and waiting. The wind often changes when the tide turns. If it does so today, we’ll be up and away before it’s time for supper.”
Lucy realised that Captain Hardie was trying to be reassuring and she wanted to believe him. Unfortunately she had a nasty little niggle of apprehension running up and down her spine which she hoped would not prove to be prophetic.
Chapter Six
“Ship ahoy!”
“Wither away?” Mr. Barnes shouted up to the lookout.
“Two points fine on the port bow.”
Captain Hardie jumped up from the breakfast table and almost ran out of the saloon. Mrs. Hardie rose to her feet, looking after him.
“What is it?” Mr. Anselm asked anxiously. He still looked ill, Lucy thought, although he had made the effort to appear on what should be their last morning on board together.
“Probably nothing,” Mrs. Hardie replied. “No need for either of you to disturb your meal. I will go and see.” She hurried out of the room.
“I don’t like this,” Mr. Anselm said. “Something is obviously wrong.”
“Perhaps we had better find out as well,” Lucy said.
“Do you think we ought?” Mr. Anselm asked nervously.
“What harm can it do? We won’t get in the way but I want to know what’s going on.”
Lucy did not wait for him. She went to her cabin and put on her boat cloak. Then she climbed up the companionway, intending to take her usual seat, but the confusion on the deck held her still. Sailors ran to and fro. Some hauled on ropes in response to the captain’s bark. Others, more ominously, had pulled the cover off a pair of small cannons that stood on the poop facing the stern. They were untying the guns. Mr. Barnes passed Lucy by without noticing her until she called out to him,
“Mr. Barnes?”
He whirled around, came back and took her arm and led her to the top of the companionway.
“Go below, please.”
“But what is it? What’s happening?”
“A Frenchy out of Saint-Malo by the look of her. They’ve spotted us and are giving chase. No time for more if we want to loose them. So stay in the saloon until I come and tell you what’s happened.”
He hurried away. Lucy turned to obey him and then she stopped.
I won’t get in their way. I won’t. But I must see. They told me they can sail faster than the French so they should be able to do so now. There shouldn’t be any danger. I’ll wait for my chance and then hide somewhere on the deck. If I stay in the saloon listening to all the noises up here and not knowing what’s happening, I’ll go mad.
Lucy crept back under the overhang again and waited for her opportunity. No one seemed to be watching her, they were all looking astern. She took a deep breath and raced for the piles of cargo tied to the deck. She wormed herself between some bales until she was hidden but if she peered over the top of the pile, she could see. After a while the activity ceased and Mr. Barnes said in a loud voice,
“That’s as high as she’ll point, Captain. Can’t do better than that.”
“Very well.”
“Should I break out the muskets?”
“Not yet. If they get that close then we won’t stand much chance, muskets or no. Send a man up the rigging with a telescope. I want to be told the moment they begin to gain on us.”
“Aye, sir.”
Lucy saw a sailor scrambling up the ropes until he reached the top of the lower sails which she had been told were called courses. He sat on the yard, swaying with the motion of the boat and opened the telescope.
“Are they gaining, Lenny?” Captain Hardie shouted up to him.
“Don’t think so, Cap’n. Not yet at any rate, but they’re loosening the topgallants now.”
“Are they by God? Damn them to hell! Mr. Barnes?”
“Sir?”
“Better get ours up too, if that’s the case.”
The next hour seemed to be a blur to Lucy. Orders were shouted, sails unfurled, the ship swayed from one side to the other, driven by the taut canvas. She clung on to the rope that tied down one of the bales as the deck shifted under her feet. The prow drove into the waves and spray flew over her, penetrating the folds of her boat cloak. The salt stung her eyes and her hair flew out of its pins, whipping itself into wild tangles. Although she realised that she would be safer below, she did not dare to move. Everything seemed to be happening so fast. She waited and watched.
Captain Hardie shouted something and Mr. Barnes, followed by a couple of the sailors ran past her to the base of the mainmast. She could not see what they were doing but when they returned they carried a heavy box wrapped in oilcloth between them. The men struggled to hold on to it as the deck tipped and rose. She looked at them for a little too long and her eyes met Mr. Barnes. Her hiding place had been discovered. They did not stop to challenge her though and made their way up onto the poop.
A muffled bang, another shout and running footsteps. Then suddenly Mr. Barnes was beside her, Mrs. Hardie following close behind. The old lady’s shoulders were soaked and her grey hair flying in ribbons around her face. In any other setting, Lucy thought she would be a figure of fun but here she seemed to be nothing but admirable. Mr. Barnes caught Lucy’s arm and pulled her out from the protection of the bales. As the force of the wind hit her she reeled. The next thing she knew she was being dragged along the deck, forced to run forward as the ship dipped and then to cling on to the nearest support. She started to fall but Mr. Barnes’ grip did not slacken until she was into the entrance to the fo'c's'le. Lucy had not been able to spare a thought or a glance for Mrs. Hardie but the captain’s wife stumbled into shelter only a moment after her.
“Take care of her, I’ve got to get back,” Mr. Barnes shouted over the noise of the wind.
“Come with me,” Mrs. Hardie ordered and plunged into the darkness.
At the bottom of the companionway the deck opened out. Small rays of light filtered down but everything else was black. Someone fumbled and then a spark flared. Mrs. Hardie held up a dark lantern and slid aside the shutter. Peering around, Lucy saw a wide space with what looked like boxes of cargo lashed to the sides of the ship.
“Sit down beside me,” Mrs. Hardie said, “and hold on. We may be here for a while.”
“What’s happening?”
“The French are shooting. Didn’t you hear the gun?”
“Was that what it was?”
“They shouldn’t damage us much at this distance but if they’re lucky, they might put a shot through the saloon. The captain wants us to be forward away from danger.”
“What about Mr. Anselm?” Lucy asked.
“Mr. Barnes has gone to fetch him,” Mrs. Hardie replied.
Very shortly afterwards a scrambling noise was heard and the gangly cleric came down the companionway to them.
“This is most unsatisfactory,” he complained to Mrs. Hardie as soon as he had found somewhere to sit. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that we might be attacked by the French?”
“Mr. Anselm, we’ve been at war for many years. The French coast lies on the other side of the Channel. It’s hardly surprising that we spot some of their ships from time to time.”
“Here I was sitting peaceably in my cabin, reading the Bible, when I was most rudely interrupted and dragged along here for what purpose I can’t imagine.”
“Better to be interrupted by one of our men than by a cannonball coming in through the stern. They are firing at us you know.”
“Heavens! Are they? That must have been the bang I heard.”
Lucy had to repress a giggle. How could he be so silly?
“Pray hard that they come no nearer because, if they do, we won’t be any safer here than we would be anywhere else.”
“Then I shall certainly do so,” Mr. Anselm said and closed his eyes.
At first, Lucy felt apprehensive and tense, but gradually, as nothing further happened and neither of her companions seemed inclined for conversation, she became calmer. She began to doze and would have fallen asleep except for the violent swaying of the boat. She was luckier than Mr. Anselm whose prayers suddenly ceased as he gagged. Mrs. Hardie jumped to her feet and ran to fetch a leather bucket which she pushed under his nose at the opportune moment. The smell of his vomit, nearly made Lucy sick too, but Mrs. Hardie carried the bucket away before she did so. Mrs. Hardie did not sit down again but staggered past them and started to climb up the companionway.
“Where are you going?” Lucy called.
“To find out what’s happening and to get rid of the muck.”
I want to see too, Lucy thought. She was on her feet, trying to walk on the tilting deck when Mrs. Hardie returned. The light was dim but Lucy thought her mouth looked grim.
“Well?” Mr. Anselm opened his eyes and asked.
“They’re nearer. The captain is flying every sail we have, but they’ve got more. Their masts are white with canvas. Couldn’t see much without going out on the deck and my husband wouldn’t like that, not when he’s told me to stay here. Let’s hope something happens to slow them down before they come too close.”
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