On the wharf where the Henry coach would arrive sat a one-legged sailor atop a large barrel. His crumpled tricorn hat hid most of his white straggly hair. His tattered clothing showed his poverty. His long grey beard fluttered in the cold morning breeze. The stranger was crippled like many a sailor who lost a limb or two in some forgotten sea battle or accident. When no longer of any use, they were dismissed from the Navy and taken away from the only life they knew; discarded and left behind to beg for their livelihood for the remainder of their days.
The old man adjusted a canvas bag that hung from his shoulder. He touched it as if it was the most precious possession he had. Perhaps it was the only possession he had. He leaned his crutch against an adjacent barrel and sighed as he tugged the old tattered sea coat closer around him to stave off the cold morning air.
He cocked his head when he heard the clip-clop of horses coming his way. In the morning shadows he could just make out two horses pulling a carriage. He hoped it was the one he came to see. He smiled to himself realizing he had timed his arrival at the waterfront just right. He mumbled out loud, "They must suspect nothing!
The fancy coach rolled to a gentle stop in front of him - the driver guided the horses in a tight left turn revealing the fancy crest on the door - a large 'H' surrounded with fancy gold-leafed curls and ornate squiggles. He waited for someone to emerge from the coach, but the driver glared at the old sailor as if a warning not to approach the coach. He did not get down from his perch, but sat waiting - silent.
Mother and son sat in silence, neither wishing to say the first words of their goodbyes. Elizabeth finally turned slowly to face her only child - remembering. Four years ago she said goodbye to her son. He was barely twelve years old then. She did not know if she would ever see him again.
Lady Henry studied her son one last time trying to capture his features in her mind. His hair tied up in the back. His dark eyes were keen and sharp even on this dark morning. She decided her son looked rather dashing in his white shirt, new blue waste coat with shiny brass buttons, his new nankeen breaches, white socks and new buckled shoes. He was not to travel as a King's officer, but as a civilian with wealthy means. Of course, she thought him handsom, perhaps a little skinny for his age. She remembered the letters he wrote while aboard the Weymouth. In his letters, he told his mother that he was well liked and accepted by the other officers and crew of the ship. But this morning, Lady Henry was already missing her son.
She was not well. The winter brought a harsh cough upon her and at times she could not stand up without support. She was a good looking woman of a pleasant nature. She treated the household servants with kindness and respect and raised John to do the same. She was looked on as a person that did not use her position to trample on others less fortunate, but instead she helped others where and when she could.
John turned and looked into his mother's sad eyes. He remembered how different she looked when he arrived home. She had grown older during his absence and the winter sickness had taken its toll. Her hair was grayer, her step labored and heavy lines were drawn across her brow. Yet her clear, pale blue eyes never changed. She still had that familiar smile he knew so well. "Mother, I'll be alright. It's not like this is the first time for me in a ship. The voyage will go quickly - it's a fast vessel. The captain is reported to be a professional seaman."
A fine drizzle began to fall, dampening the air around them. Neither occupant noticed it on this gray morning. She tried to smile but as she did, she suffered another coughing fit and held her handkerchief up to her mouth until it passed.
John impulsively put his arm around his mother's shoulder as if he were trying to give her strength. She struggled to catch her breath as she said, "I know… it's just that…" she left the rest unsaid.
"Mother, you should have stayed at the inn. Better yet, you should have stayed at the country house away from this sea air and mist. It's dreadful!"
Lady Elizabeth was proud of her son. He had grown up so quickly while in the Navy. Too fast perhaps, she thought. John was much more confident. The way he talked, walked and handled himself in front of others. She knew he could defend himself because John's father had seen to it he was given fencing lessons at an early age and eventually became his school's champion before entering the navy at age twelve. While at sea, he was in constant demand to train others in the art of fencing.
Outside the coach, the horses grew impatient - scraping their hooves on the cobblestone while gray plumes of mist poured from their flared nostrils. They were eager to get moving again and did not like waiting. The coachman did not appear to be in a hurry though - he sat on the seat and waited. His name was Charles and had worked for the Henry family for over twenty years. He was regarded more of a friend than a servant. Being a professional servant, Charles knew when to sit still and when to move. Now was the time for stillness as he waited for the proper and discrete time get down. He sat rigid in his neat uniform with the gold braids across his chest, red-striped pants and tall black boots. His gold braided tricorn hat was getting wet, but he did not notice. He looked very much the part of a professional servant and one used to doing whatever was required. At the appropriate time, he climbed down from his perch and walked to the back of the coach to untie John's sea trunk.
Inside the coach, John's mother whispered, "I shall miss you very much. You look so much like your father, confident and knowing no fear. It was the same when you left for the Navy. You came back to me even stronger than when you left."
John leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek and wrapped his arms around her neck. As he did so, he softly replied, "I shall miss you Mother. I love you."
Not waiting for her to say anything else, John took his heavy tarpaulin coat and his hat which lay across his lap, opened the door and stepped down onto the street. He put the heavy coat on, then clapped his hat tightly on his head. He turned, closed the door and smiled to his mother through the open window. She held her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.
The deep feelings of loneliness came crashing down around him like a rogue wave during an Atlantic storm, cold and heavy, just like when he left to enter the Navy. His heartstrings tugged at him. Choking back the tears, he lifted his chin and walked to the back of the carriage. Charles was there ready to do his part.
The servant stood respectfully. "I'd be happy to take your trunk to the ship, Master John."
John shook his head, "Thank you, Charles I can manage." John leaned toward the driver and whispered, "I have known you all my life. You have been a good friend to our family. Please take care of her. I fear for her."
Charles smiled, "Don't you fret on it, Sir. She will be in good hands. I'll not let anything happen to her. Just you hurry back to us!"
"I will." John impulsively laid his hand on the man's arm and smiled. "Take care of yourself as well." Charles smiled, but his eyes betrayed his concern and sadness. John turned his gaze to the waiting ship.
The Hopeful was a two masted merchant vessel built for speed and the comfort of its passengers. More important than the passengers was the cargo it plied back and forth from the West Indies to the ports of England. The Hopeful was lightly armed, not meant to fight other ships, but to avoid them and run before the wind if possible.
The ship strained at the ropes securing her to the dock, bobbing up and down against the rough waves as if she wanted to be free of the land. Through the morning fog, John could see the ship's Captain standing on the deck in his cloak and hat, feet wide apart, arms folded across his wide chest. A look of distress played across his weather-beaten face at having to delay his departure until this one passenger arrived. He, like his ship, wanted to be free of the land.
John picked up the trunk with one hand and started toward the waiting ship. He spotted the old sailor sitting on a barrel. He was suspicious of him, thinking he might be a thief or a highwayman, then he saw the crutch and the one pant legged rolled up. This sight was not new to him and one he had seen many times when his s
hip made port. It was always the same story with little variation in the telling of it. He reached into his pocket, withdrew some coins and pressed it into the sailor's outstretched hand. "Thankee, Sir. You be a true gentlm'n! Bound for the Caribbean I see?"
John nodded, "Yes."
"Oh be careful Young Sir. Them islands be full of witchcraft and strange powers, best beware. Never know what storm be a brew'n there. If I had not lost me leg I'd come with yah!"
John smiled, "I'll be careful and thank you for the warning." He instantly thought of all the strange things that happened to him that night on the island. He continued walking to the ship without looking back, afraid his feelings would betray him. He could feel his mother's eyes watching his every step.
He walked resolutely to the dock and stood at the end of the gangway facing the ship. From the deck, the Captain stood eyeing him as he asked, "Permission to board, Sir?"
The captain snapped, "Granted and be quick about it!"
The one-legged sailor turned from watching John make his way to the ship and shifted his attention to the coach. Charles secured the back of the coach and walked to the front and climbed up into his seat. As he did so, he gave the old man a look as if to say, keep your distance, but he said nothing to him. He grabbed the reins and turned the coach around. The old sailor caught sight of the weeping woman sitting all alone inside the coach as it passed. At that very moment, she looked up and saw him and their eyes met - her heart leapt, as if seeing a long lost friend. The sailor removed his crumpled old hat and smiled. The coach continued to turn, and the sailor was lost from her view. Charles cracked the whip and the coach bolted forward, rolled down the street and disappeared around the corner.
Perplexed as to the reaction she felt from seeing the stranger, she tried to hold the image of his eyes in her mind. They were dark yet familiar, very familiar, but from when and where, she did not know. Her thoughts were interrupted by another spasm of coughing.
The Captain of the Hopeful looked very much the part of a professional sailor, thick, gray hair sprouted from under his round hat. His weather beaten face contained droopy dark eyes worn out from constantly watching every detail of his command. His old clothes matched his old and worn out disposition. His voice was deep and resonant - that too matched his personality. "Be you, John Henry?" he growled.
"Yes Sir." John spoke with conviction - not fear.
"Names Roscoe - Captain of the Hopeful. Don't like hav'n to wait upon a passenger when the tide is a wast'n, bad start."
John met his stare, "Unavoidable Sir."
Roscoe pointed to a man walking towards them, "Mr. Cumberbatch here is First Mate. He'll take you below to stow your gear. He'll tell you of the arrangements and rules of my ship while you are aboard." With that, he turned on his heels and began barking orders to get the ship underway.
Cumberbatch was also a large man with fiery red hair and a red beard to match. The beard hid most of his round face, but his eyes were light-blue and projected a gentle disposition but John knew from experience, looks could be deceiving. Cumberbatch spoke with a thick Scottish accent, "Come this way Young Sir. We'll get yah berthed proper like." He did not offer to take the trunk from John. The First Mate was no porter given to hoist luggage about for passengers, especially boys of sixteen.
A First Mate was next to the Captain in seniority. These men had many years of experience and knew the ocean like no one else. Most were ex-Navy men who, when the wars ended, found themselves in unchartered territory while on land with no ship to employ them. They often found berths with the East India Trading Company, known also as John's Company. The Company maintained a large fleet of merchant and trading vessels that plied their merchandize from one end of the world to the other. Those who worked aboard these ships were paid much more than the lowly Tar Jack in the Royal Navy and life was not as harsh.
As Cumberbatch led the way, he said over his shoulder, "Ever been aboard a ship a'fore?"
John replied, "A few times." He changed the subject, "You're Scottish, right?
Cumberbatch replied, "What gave you that idea, my lovely accent?"
John smiled, "No. Your red hair!"
The First Mate laughed, "I thought for sure my proper way of speak'n would give me away!"
Cumberbatch led the way through the main hatch and down the ladder that led to the deck below. When he reached the bottom, he turned and offered to take the trunk so John could come down the steps. The lower deck was dark and single lantern lit the passageway which filled with eerie shadows. The narrow hallway led to a couple of small cabins reserved for the occasional paying passenger.
Cumberbatch stopped at the last door on the right and said, "This be yours." And opened the door. "This be your quarters until we reach Jamaica. I'll tell yah this… the Captain is not much of what you would call, sociable. He most likely won't be ask'n you to take meals with 'im in his cabin. You're pretty much on your own, Lad. He only has one rule: stay out of the way during the voyage and you'll be alright. You're free to come and go as you wish, but stay out of the way of the crew. You'll most likely not want to be amongst them anyways, scummy lot they be!"
John stepped inside his cabin as he said, "Thank you, Mr. Cumberbatch."
Cumberbatch turned to leave, but suddenly stopped. "By the by, you might be interested to know we got some forty other lads on board as well as yourself. They be head'n for Jamaica just like yourself."
"Forty…why?" asked John.
"Someth'n about rid'n the streets of London of them bilge rats…orphans mostly from what I gathers, most of 'em living in the streets with no one to look after 'em, see? They rob and steal from decent folks and so them what's got the power wants to ship 'em off somewheres else. Don't pay them no mind, they'll keep to themselves right enough. They're berthed in the forward hold. You just mind what I told you about staying out of the way. The Captain is in a bad mood because of all the children aboard his ship and I'm none too happy about it either. Bad luck having children aboard, but I still feels sorry for them poor buggers!" With that Cumberbatch left, leaving John alone in the belly of a strange ship.
John slowly shut the door to his cabin and stood there listening to the familiar shipboard noises he had grown so used to - the sluice of saltwater lapping against the hull, the squeal of tackle and blocks as the crew got the ship underway. He suddenly realized how much he missed all of it. To John Henry, there was nothing more exciting than getting a ship underway, preparing to venture to new places and perhaps see and do things never before seen or done. He also felt all alone and melancholy but the midshipman inside him took over and forced those feelings to the back of his mind. He was aboard a ship bound for Jamaica! He was the man of the house now, young Lord Henry and he would take care of his mother and his family's name!
With a shrug and a new resolve, he lifted the sea chest and placed it on the bunk that was situated against the bulkhead. He smiled as he looked at the bed. On board the Weymouth, he always slept in a hammock slung between two beams - eighteen inches of space was all any man on a King's ship was given.
He rummaged through the contents in the trunk and produced three possessions he had purchased with his own money when the Weymouth docked; a sextant which was used for navigational computations, a small telescope and most important of all, a compass. He put the sextant and the compass back inside the chest, closed it and placed it under the cot. He stuffed the telescope inside his coat and left the cabin. Mr. Cumberbatch had told him the captain did not like passenger to get in the way. Of course they did not know he was at home on the deck of a ship and that is where he longed to be.
As the Hopeful idled away from the dock, the one-legged sailor continued to gaze after the coach even after it disappeared from sight. He whispered, "Do not worry Dearest of Ladies, John will be watched over and protected, that I promise." He stood on his one leg, removed his threadbare coat, and the old hat. He took the canvas bag and opened it. He reached inside and withdrew something black and covered
in short fur - a seal skin. He placed the old coat and hat in bag pulled the draw strings and closed it. He then placed the seal skin around him, like a cloak, and was instantly transformed into a large seal with long whiskers, black eyes and black nose. The seal gently fell to the cobblestone street on its belly. It took the draw strings of the canvas back in its teeth and waddled over to the side of the dock and dropped into the water with a very slight splash. The seal's head came out of the water and saw the Hopeful moving toward the channel and the open sea. It dove under the water and followed the ship.
John came up on deck and found a place where he would not be in anyone's way. He watched with professional interest how the ship was responding to the efforts of the crew and the commands of captain. To John, the whole process was a thing of beauty.
As a two-masted, square rigged merchant vessel, the Hopeful was fitted with four small cannons that fired a four pound ball each and two swivel guns, which could fire pieces of metal and small round shot. Of the four cannon, two were placed on each side and the two swivel guns were mounted on the railings fore and aft. They acted as a deterrent to any would-be boarder. The ship had a compliment of thirty or so seasoned sailors that met the demands of the ship. These professional seamen found life on land a rough and strange existence with little or no meaning; but a rough sea with the wind screaming through the rigging and waves crashing all around them gave life sense and meaning. To them, the ship was everything, to them, the ship WAS life!
He stood looking up at Hopeful's tall masts, cordage, canvas and lines. He fought back the bile rising in his throat. His fear of heights was never far away. His anger at not conquering his fear after five years, helped steady him. Even now his knees felt weak from just thinking about it. But, on this voyage, he would not be required to climb up the tall masts and stay for hours at a time - he was a passenger now and not a midshipman.
Crossbone Children and the Orphans of Avalon Page 3
