Finally, thankfully, trip number ten came and I landed on the deck for the last time.
‘Very good, lad,’ said Lieutenant Lely, giving me a pat on the back. ‘Go get your rations.’
But it was not to be.
‘You, boy!’ Captain Barton strode to the rail of the quarterdeck.
‘Aye, sir?’ I remembered to stand up straight.
‘Learned your lesson?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Then you can take first watch on the masthead.’ He disappeared into the golden, candlelit glow of his cabin, accompanied by the smell of roasted meats.
I couldn’t believe it. I gave Lieutenant Lely a desperate look but the second-in-command’s face was set. It would take more than this casual cruelty from the captain to shock him.
‘You heard, boy. Up you go again.’
How I managed to get up there, I don’t know. All that kept me going was the thought that I wouldn’t have to come down again for hours. Very little watching took place as I lay my head against the mast, shivering. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to be looking for, or what I should do if I saw something. My main preoccupation was trying not to fall asleep. I also had an urgent problem of a most private nature that would have to be relieved sooner or later. Utter misery.
I distracted myself by cursing Billy Shepherd with all the foul names in my extensive vocabulary. If he was responsible for our plight, I was going to survive this and make him pay. I pondered suitable punishments, but nothing came close to what he had done. After all that had passed between us in Bath, I felt oddly betrayed. Why I’d come to expect fair dealing from a known villain was beyond me, but still I’d never thought he’d get someone else to do his dirty work for him.
At around midnight, the eight bells rang, signalling the end of the watch. I heard my replacement panting as he climbed up.
‘Cat? Still with us?’ It was Pedro.
‘Just.’
He pressed a dry biscuit into my hand. ‘There. It’s for you.’
‘You shouldn’t have –’
‘Forget it. I’m on double rations, remember.’
‘You’ve told Syd what’s going on?’
‘Yes. He was all for going to the captain but we persuaded him out of it until we’ve worked out if Barton is mad or not.’
‘Oh, he’s mad all right.’
Pedro rubbed my aching shoulders. ‘Syd’s on your watch so will look after you. You’d better get below: you’ve only got four hours before the next duty.’
I groaned and put my hand with practised ease in the dark to the halyard, but then I remembered something.
‘Er, Pedro, where does one . . . you know . . .?’
Fortunately he understood without the need for more hints. ‘At the heads – that’s the front of the ship. There are some seats under the figurehead. I’d choose your moment carefully.’
‘You don’t have to remind me. Goodnight.’
I slid to the deck, landing with barely a sound, and attended to what was necessary. Feeling somewhat more comfortable, I made my way back to my cabin, passing Frank on the stairs. He gave me an anguished look but said nothing.
Maclean was waiting for me below. He snorted as I stumbled in.
‘Taking to the life, eh?’ he mocked.
I said nothing as I tumbled into my hammock. I didn’t even nibble the biscuit; I was too tired.
It felt as if I’d hardly closed my eyes when I was tipped out of my hammock and ordered to take my second watch on the masthead. At least this time I had the reward of seeing Pedro as I climbed up to relieve him. He was difficult to make out in the dark but his hand felt frozen as he helped me up. The ropes were slippery with frost. He blew on his fingers.
‘Frank and I have been thinking,’ he whispered. ‘Our priority is to get you out of here, somewhere safe. Frank says he knows the second lieutenant by sight.’
‘Yes, I met him too at the Assembly Rooms but he hasn’t recognized me.’
‘Just as well until we’re sure of him. Frank’s going to sound him out, see if he can be trusted.’
I didn’t have a good feeling about this. ‘But what if Maclean finds out what you’re doing? The moment I signed up as a boy I as good as declared my guilt – no one will believe that I was forced to go into hiding.’ I cursed Maclean, then sighed. ‘We didn’t have time to think this through properly. I shouldn’t’ve gone along with it; I should’ve stated my innocence there and then. Instead I walked into the trap prepared for me, Frank too when he gave a false name. Now we can’t do anything unless we can find someone to believe Frank is who he says he is.’
‘But we’ve got to try something. You’ll not survive this if we don’t.’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘I’m doing my best,’ I added more truthfully.
‘We know you are, and you’re managing very well considering you’ve been knocked out, starved and tormented by a sadistic captain in the last twenty-four hours. And don’t punish yourself: you are not to blame. Frank and I should’ve looked after you better – at least that’s what Syd says.’
I grimaced. ‘I imagine he didn’t quite put it in those words.’
Pedro squeezed my hand. ‘Well, no, he didn’t. He’s in a boiling rage. Look, this is a mess right now, but we’ll sort it out. You just keep alive and keep your secret.’ There was a shout from the deck. ‘I’d better go. Just hang on in there, Cat.’
It felt doubly lonely when he’d gone. All I had were the stars and my thoughts. My hopes of rescue rested on the character of a red-haired lieutenant once met in a ballroom. Fate was a strange thing.
I had never before given much consideration as to what the defenders of our nation, the seamen of His Majesty’s navy, ate for breakfast. The hours before dawn were spent pondering this all-important question. I had two wishes: that it would be hot and plentiful. When the bell for the end of my watch rang, I was down that halyard at a speed that even Captain Barton could not fault. It little mattered if I had left the skin of my palms on the rope: I was so cold, I could feel nothing. For the first time, I willingly sought out Maclean, hoping he would lead me to food.
‘Here’s my lad,’ Maclean said, steering me with a heavy hand on my neck into his mess, a space between two cannons on the upper gun deck.
Five men and one woman were seated on benches around a suspended table, with a mess kid, or bowl in front of them. They looked up as we approached. The woman – the gunner’s wife, I guessed – smiled at me and shook her head. She had kind eyes and looked no more than thirty. The gunner – a taciturn man – sat proudly at her side, letting her do all the talking for them both.
‘The poor lamb looks blue with cold. Here, boy, sit by me and get this down you.’ She thrust a bowl and spoon into my numb fingers and patted the bench beside her.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ I sank down and began to bolt my food. It was skillygalee, a rich oatmeal gruel. Not up to Boxton standards but better than many a meal I’d scraped together in Drury Lane.
‘Did you hear that?’ she exclaimed to her husband. ‘Called me “ma’am”!’
‘Aye, I heard,’ he grunted.
She smoothed the hair on the top of my head. ‘Mr Maclean, I can see your boy and I are going to get on very well together. But you can call me Mrs Foster, dearie.’
‘I’ll say this for his last master,’ said Maclean, giving me a warning look, ‘he taught his boys to be polite.’
The conversation carried on around me about people and places I knew not. Bowl empty, I sagged back into my new friend’s skirts and fell into a doze. Compared to the foul smells elsewhere on board, she smelt wholesome, even lightly perfumed, and, best of all, clean.
‘Aw, look at the little thing. Worn out and the day’s only just started,’ crooned Mrs Foster, stroking my hair soothingly.
‘Aye, the captain made him climb the mast ten times,’ said Maclean. ‘Good for his character.’
Mrs Foster tutted and said something unprintable about the captain. I completely agreed.
‘Why not let him stay with me this morning, Mr Maclean?’ she asked. ‘I’ve some mending to do for the officers, he can keep me and the other girls company.’
Mr Maclean got up abruptly. ‘Thank you, Mrs Foster, that’s a mighty generous offer but my apprentice is eager to start his duties. We’ve the inventory to check today.’ He gave me a kick in the shins. ‘Come on, Jimmy.’
Reluctantly I scrambled to my feet. It had felt so good to have a motherly person caressing my hair that I didn’t want it to stop.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Foster,’ I said, bowing to her and the company. This sent her into peals of laughter.
‘Goodbye to you too, Jimmy,’ she called after me, waving her hand.
Once out of sight, Mr Maclean backed me against a bulkhead.
‘None of your fancy ways in here, or you’ll feel the back of my hand. And keep away from the women. Got it?’
It seemed I could do nothing right – not that I wanted to please him, only spare myself further punishment.
‘Aye, Mr Maclean.’
He gave me a box round the ear for good measure and pushed me down into the hold.
‘Count the casks of peas. When you’ve done that, start on the water barrels.’ He passed me a lantern.
‘Aye, sir.’
‘And I don’t want to see your miserable face until noon, you understand? I’ll be sitting here making sure no one disturbs you.’
I crept into the belly of the ship, relieved to be out of sight of Maclean, but fearful of what I would find. Reader, if you’ve not been in the hold of a ship before, you will not appreciate what a haunting place it is. You’re not alone. For company, there are numerous rats, bold ones who are not afraid to sniff you over in case you offer them a tasty bite. The penned animals, destined to be slaughtered for fresh meat, moo, cluck and bleat mournfully, the smell of dung adding to the already noxious atmosphere. Then there’s the slap and slosh of the water in the hold, reminding you of the watery grave awaiting just the other side of the planks. Few ships are completely watertight. Most have to keep a pump working from time to time to empty out the seepage before it damages the stores. And then there are the stores themselves: casks and barrels closely packed. It takes a small boy – or girl in my case – to rummage among them for the count and it’s dangerous work too if something is not securely fastened.
But I was blowed if I could be bothered.
I had been abducted and threatened by this man. I was not going to lift a finger for him if I could get away with it. I looked at the list he had given me: a hundred and ten casks of peas. I crossed it out and put a hundred and nine – the cook had probably opened at least one since we sailed. I then squeezed myself into a space too small for Mr Maclean to reach, grabbed a thick stick to beat off any rats, and settled myself down to sleep. To survive this voyage I would need my wits about me and that is what I intended to achieve.
I slept surprisingly well and woke much refreshed, ready to do battle once more. Guessing noon was almost upon us, I crawled back out of the hold and handed Maclean the list. He looked at it and sniffed.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Aye, sir, I counted them twice over.’
He gave a humph but didn’t dispute the figures any further. The only way to give me the lie was to do the work himself and you can guess what he thought of poking around in the dark.
After the noon meal I was allowed outside to participate in the cleaning, or what Maclean grandly called ‘the swabbing’ of the deck. All this nautical terminology was making my head ache. Incomprehensible orders were constantly being bellowed: belay this, reef that, up the mizzen, trim the top gallants. I felt as if I’d fallen among the canting crew. Thieves are well known for having their own language; sailors, it seems, have theirs too. Rest assured, Reader, this is not one of those stories which delight in befuddling you with such stuff. Laying my hand on my heart, I promise to keep such naval jargon to a minimum.
Scrubbing the decks had the advantage that Frank was able to make his way towards me. I could see that his knuckles were cracked and bleeding – not surprising when you consider that he never had to do a day’s work in his life. It was murder on the knees – mine already felt rubbed raw.
‘Where’ve you been all morning?’ he muttered, trying not to move his lips.
‘Sleeping,’ I murmured. ‘Between a cask of salted pork and next Sunday’s dinner.’
He smiled in relief. ‘Good for you.’ He glanced over his shoulder to check Maclean wasn’t watching. Fortunately for us he was arguing with the carpenter over by the steps to the quarterdeck. ‘He’s not offered you any . . . er . . . insulting behaviour, has he?’
Dear old Frank. Here I was with a black eye, grimy and doubtless smelling none too sweet, and Frank was worried for my virtue.
‘No, Frank, he hasn’t,’ I replied, serious for his sake. ‘I think that’s the last thing on his mind. He’s too busy trying to stop me being adopted by Mrs Foster and the other wives.’
‘Syd wants a word.’
‘I bet he does.’
‘He’s over by the water barrel.’
The seaman in charge of our cleaning party gave me permission to get myself a drink. I could sense Mr Maclean’s eye on me as I wandered over to the barrel. I filled a mug and glugged the water. I can say one thing for it: despite being green-tinged, it tasted better than the stuff served in the Pump Room – that’s if you ignored the little beasties wriggling about in the bottom.
Syd was coiling rope nearby. I walked past him and leant casually on the rail, my back to Maclean.
‘Hello, Syd,’ I said softly.
‘What the ’ell do you think you were doing, Cat Royal?’ he whispered furiously. If we’d been back in Bow Street in his butcher’s shop, he would have been bellowing. ‘Going down to the docks to save me! You should’ve kept well away. I can look after myself.’
‘Yes, I know, Syd. You’ve done very well, being thrown on board this ship and whisked off to who knows where. We needn’t’ve tried to help you. No doubt you wanted a change of scene, a breath of tropical air – do you the power of good.’
‘It’s not funny, Cat. What’s ’appened to me is one thing, but you – this isn’t right.’
‘Course it’s not, but what do you propose I do about it? I didn’t ask for any of this, you know.’ The ship dipped into a wave and I lurched against him. He discreetly set me on my feet. ‘How did you end up here, Syd?’
‘Mick Bailey.’ Syd spat the words out as if they were poison in his mouth. ‘And I earned ’im a fortune this summer! Didn’t want to share it with me when it came to it; had me press-ganged instead.’
I resisted the temptation to tell him ‘I told you so’. I’d warned him about his manager before now: nothing Mick Bailey did could surprise me.
‘And what about you, Cat?’ Syd murmured. ‘The boys said you were set upon?’
‘Yes, someone’s paid Maclean to keep Frank out the way and I’m the hostage for his good behaviour.’
‘I’m goin’ to kill ’im.’ Syd wrung the rope in his fists, glaring at Maclean.
I had feared this would be Syd’s approach.
‘No, you’re not. If you want to protect me, don’t start by getting us both hanged. I’m wanted for murder apparently; let’s not make it the two of us.’
I knew this would be hard for Syd: realizing that he could only help me by doing nothing. I heard him sigh and he returned to neatly coiling the rope.
‘So, ’ow are you managin’?’ he muttered.
‘I’m fine. Really I am. Yesterday was a bit of an eye-opener, but today’s been pretty good so far.’
‘If there’s anything –’
‘I know. You don’t have to say. I know.’
‘Oy, squirt!’ I felt a sharp pain as something lashed across my shoulders. I spun round to see one of the bosun’s mates, burly individuals whose job it is to whip slackers into a more industrious frame of mind, threatening me with a length of rope. ‘Get back to work: this ain’t no pleasure cruise.’
Syd sprang in front of me, which was far more effective than the whip in making me move. This was the wrong fight for him to pick.
‘Aye, sir. Sorry, sir. Feeling seasick,’ I said with a realistic retch. I knew only too well what that felt like, being a poor sailor.
The bosun’s mate took a step back, worried I was about to puke over his spotless white trousers.
‘Tom Thumb drank the water with nothing in it,’ chipped in Harkness, my friend from the masthead, who had come to see what was happening.
‘That’ll kill you, young’un,’ said the mate, shaking his head. He looked at me more closely. ‘You’re the one who had to climb the mast ten times last night, ain’t yer?’
‘That’s right, Nightingale, up and down like a squirrel he was,’ confirmed Harkness.
The mate took a step nearer. I flinched back, Syd clenched his fists, but Nightingale only wanted to whisper some advice in my ear.
‘Listen, Tom Thumb, keep out of the captain’s way. Look busy even if you ain’t. Don’t drink that poison,’ he nodded to the water, ‘without a shot of rum to purify it. Understood?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Now, get back to work.’
‘Aye, sir.’
As I holystoned the deck, scraping the timbers smooth, I reflected that Nightingale had just given me more sound advice in one short speech than most people give in a lifetime. There were more friends at hand than I had imagined.
Over the next few weeks, our ship sailed swiftly westwards, blessed with favourable winds. At first, any strong swell brought a recurrence of my seasickness but slowly I became accustomed to the unsettling motion of the vessel and found these bouts grew less frequent. It is strange how you can become used to the most horrible circumstances, even take some pleasure in them. I had never travelled so far in my life and could not help but feel excited by the prospect of visiting the warmer climes of the West Indies. I derived some comfort from the fact that I had successfully avoided Barmy Barton. The captain had not stopped unleashing his cruelty on the ship’s company, but fortunately these thunderbolts fell elsewhere. One midshipman was lashed for being late for his watch. Six seamen were given three nights in the brig and no rations for drunkenness. The carpenter was scolded for hammering when the captain was asleep. Barton possessed a tormented soul, for every little thing drove him wild with rage out of all proportion to the offence. I couldn’t help wondering what ghost from the past haunted him, giving him no rest. Maclean had hinted at something, but he was the last person I was going to ask for an explanation.
And yet, Barton could also be disconcertingly charming; with him, you could never tell which way the wind was blowing. Pedro had become something of a favourite. In addition to double rations, he was summoned every evening to play to the officers’ mess. Music soothed our master like nothing else could. This gave Pedro the very welcome perk of eating his share of the captain’s leftovers – far better stuff than the ordinary seamen’s diet. He was now rarely expected to take part in the night watch, being groomed instead to be the ship’s musician. He accompanied the sailors as they raised a sail or wound the capstan, varying the beat to suit the task. On these occasions, the ship felt a happy place to be: an island of music and industry afloat on the blue-grey seas of the Atlantic. The seamen began to whisper that he brought them good luck: we had a fresh wind filling out the sails for many days. It was cold, but otherwise kindly weather for winter.
As for Syd, he had no trouble earning his place among the men. The secret of his boxing success was his agility and strength – excellent qualifications for a sailor. He had no fear of heights and soon numbered among the elite topmen, responsible for the very highest of the sails. I could hardly bear to watch him out on the yardarm with only a footrope to stop him falling. In our free time in the evenings after supper, he taught all comers the basics of boxing – another activity highly approved of by the captain. It soon became a common sight to see six or seven men, stripped to the waist even in this freezing weather, puffing away as they pummelled each other. Syd had always dreamed of having a boxing school, but I bet he hadn’t imagined it would be afloat.
At first, Frank had more problems finding his feet. He fulfilled his duties without distinction, not enough to earn either praise or punishment. Then, one day, he was handed a pack of cards. That changed everything. Taught the tricks of the trade back in London by one of Syd’s gang, Joe ‘the card’ Murray, Frank soon had a devoted following of admirers. When it was discovered he could also read and write, he was suddenly very popular. Seamen of all nations demanded his services to write letters home to their wives, mistresses and mothers, holding them ready for when we met with the next boat heading back to England. As the main currency on board was grog, Frank could’ve been drunk all the time if he wished, so many owed him their ration.
So everyone was doing well – everyone but me. True, I had plenty of sleep, thanks to the continuing inventory of the hold, a most imaginative task on my part, but I dreaded my time in reach of Maclean above deck. He seemed to regard me as a useful vent for his frustration and I’m sure that the secret knowledge that I was a girl added spice to his nastiness. Mrs Foster scolded him for his gifts of undeserved blows and kicks but that only made it worse: Maclean accused me of bleating to her. I felt wretched but dared not say anything to Frank or Syd. I confided instead in Pedro; he knew enough of men’s cruelty to understand that I just needed someone to talk to, that no one could help.
‘The problem is,’ I told him on Christmas Eve up on the cross-trees, the usual place for our private chats, ‘that Maclean’s attitude is infectious. I’m getting cuffed and pushed about by almost everyone now. If even my so-called master doesn’t care two hoots for me, no one else will. It’s nothing deliberate by the others, just a habit.’
Pedro nodded. ‘So I’ve noticed. They don’t respect you. You’ve got to earn your place somehow.’
‘Oh yes, and how exactly? What can I do? Pick a fight with someone?’ I could see Syd down below correcting the stance of one of his pupils. ‘But that’d only confirm to them that I’m nothing when I get beaten to a pulp.’
‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ he said with a smile. ‘Look, maybe Frank will get his chance to talk to Lieutenant Belsize. Maybe this’ll all be over sooner than we think.’
‘Hmm, maybe.’ Pedro wasn’t often guilty of wishful thinking but we both knew this was a long shot.
We fell silent. I stared out across the ink-black ocean, awed by the vastness of the world. The moon ducked in and out of clouds as if playing hide-and-seek. The gentle rise and fall of the waves felt like a mother rocking the ship to sleep. Letting the mood creep into my soul, my problems diminished, seeming small matters compared to the beauty of the starlight sea. The peacefulness made me feel more hopeful than I had for some days.
‘Maybe we should wait till we make port,’ I suggested. ‘Harkness said we’re not far from Bermuda. I think we stand a much better chance on land as long as it’s got a decent sized port and other ships calling in.’
‘How will that help?’
‘It’ll give me the chance to get away and then Frank will be free to tell everyone the truth.’ The plan seemed to take shape as I spoke. ‘I could try to slip off, change back into a girl and catch a ship home from there.’
Pedro did not look convinced.
I ploughed on regardless. ‘No, no, it’s a good idea really. They can’t recapture and punish a girl for the desertion of Jimmy Brown, can they? If Frank writes a letter, I could take it to the duke and let him know what’s happened.’
Pedro shook his head sceptically. ‘And how do you plan to pay for this? I don’t fancy your chances adrift in a seaport on your own with no money. That’s if someone doesn’t recognize you and arrest you first. And you can’t think we’d let you go alone. If one of us comes with you, likely as not we’d be caught and flogged for trying to jump ship.’
He was right: I was fooling myself; it was a reckless scheme. At least on the Courageous I had the protection of my friends and I would not want them to follow me and end up in worse trouble.
‘Frank’s going to send a letter home in any case, if he can smuggle it away without Maclean noticing,’ Pedro added. ‘Once that’s gone, he’s going to have a word with Lieutenant Belsize.’
‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that Belsize might be in on this?’ I’d had plenty of time to think such gloomy thoughts down in the hold.
‘What? Why?’
‘Well, all I knew about him before coming aboard was that he was talking to Billy Shepherd at the ball. That’s not good. If they know each other, he could be part of the conspiracy. He might even be one of the disappointed suitors wanting to get the catch of the season out of the way. Billy mentioned that most of the young men in Bath hated Frank. Maybe they schemed together to do this to us? And to get us all on board must’ve involved more than Maclean, surely?’
‘I don’t know; in the dark with some hired thugs, Maclean might’ve been able to pull it off. And are you so sure that Shepherd is behind it? What does he stand to gain?’
Pedro was voicing my own doubts. I tried to put the case I had made to accuse Billy. ‘Revenge, for one thing.’
‘But I thought that you and he were . . . well, you know . . . on better terms these days? I would’ve thought he’d be waiting to see how that all works out before taking the drastic step of banishing you to sea.’
Pedro’s words recalled that kiss and the promise that there was more to follow. It did not seem likely that Billy was this angry with me. But I had a second point to offer in my case.
‘Maybe, but this isn’t about me, is it? Frank’s the target. And Billy would know that concern for me would keep Frank in check. He’d be more interested in getting Avon money from Dixon than flirting with me.’
‘But Maclean said his employer didn’t want a knife in the ribs for Frank; wouldn’t that have been more in Billy’s style if he wanted Dixon to come into his inheritance?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I know Billy as well as I once did.’ I blew on my fingers. The night was cool even though we were travelling south. ‘And if not him, then who?’
‘Well, who else stands to gain from all this?’
‘Mr Dixon, of course, but he might be dead – not very clever if he’s behind it.’
‘Who’s next in line then?’
‘No idea; you’ll have to ask Frank. But I suppose it would make sense for that lucky man to wipe out the two people standing between him and a dukedom.’
After what seemed an eternity at sea, the New Year saw us approaching the port of Hamilton on Bermuda Island. I wondered what it would be like, my first view of a world beyond Europe. At Drury Lane, backdrops depicting exotic islands had always been painted with fanciful palaces festooned with lush fruits and flowers. Remembering these images, I passed the time on duty imagining myself lying in a hammock on a white sand beach eating peaches and grapes. The truth, of course, turned out to be somewhat different.
Having caught a glimpse of a chart with the islands tiny specks in the expanse of ocean, I had to take my cap off to the navigators: they had managed to get us here with nothing more than sextant, clock, sun and stars to help them. Hamilton hardly looked worth their efforts – not a good place to launch an escape attempt, being only a collection of makeshift houses around a harbour. Palm trees fringed the surf like up-ended ragged broomsticks. All in all, I had been hoping for something more inspiring for my first experience of distant lands.
A pilot came on board to see us through the reefs. A holiday mood stole over the crew as everyone anticipated shore leave after weeks of being cooped up with each other. Even sour Maclean brightened up considerably, donning a fresh shirt and trousers as Hamilton came into view. This caused Mrs Foster some merriment.
‘He has a special friend,’ she whispered to me, ‘a lady met on his last stopover. I think he expects her to be waiting for him. I am afraid your master is a romantic at heart, Jimmy.’
I found it hard to imagine anyone wishing Maclean to call; I’d run in the opposite direction. But I kept this observation to myself.
‘Yes, a romantic. You’d never know it now but he was once in training to be a priest.’
‘What!’ I couldn’t imagine anyone less godly.
‘Ah, it rankles still with him; he rarely speaks of it.’ Mrs Foster looked almost sad for him. ‘Forced from that path by poverty, he said. Took to the bottle and cards like so many do.’
‘He would never have made a priest,’ I said bitterly.
She patted my face tenderly. ‘You are too young to understand, Jimmy, but many of us have to live on when our dreams are crushed. It can spoil the best of us.’
Lieutenant Lely signalled for the shore party to prepare to disembark.
‘Are you going ashore, Jimmy?’ she asked as the boats were lowered. Maclean had appeared to have momentarily forgotten me, such was his eagerness to see his girlfriend, but he now overheard Mrs Foster’s comment and that brought him back to himself. He realized that he couldn’t leave me alone in port.
‘Can’t trust him, Mrs Foster,’ he said, cuffing me around the head to punish me for his forgetfulness. ‘He’ll drink himself stupid like he did in Bristol.’
‘Then leave him here with me,’ said Mrs Foster. ‘I’m not going ashore today.’
That wouldn’t do either. Maclean rounded on two sailors standing in line for the boat.
‘Here, Harkness, Nightingale, will you take my boy with you? Keep a close eye on him for me and bring him back in one piece?’
Harkness, my friend from the cross-trees, and Nightingale, the burly bosun’s mate, seemed surprised by this sudden outburst of fatherly concern, but they agreed readily enough when some coins appeared in their palms. Mrs Foster nodded in approval, muttering something about it being about time too.
‘You’re not to let him out of your sight, understand?’ stressed Maclean. ‘And I’ll give you double that if he comes back safe and sound.’
Having despatched me into the care of my two guards, Maclean went in search of Pedro and Frank. A short conversation with the bosun resulted in my two friends being held over until the second shore leave. As ill luck would have it, Syd was already destined for tomorrow’s party. That left me with no allies, just as Maclean intended.
As a final thought, Maclean took me aside.
‘Listen, you little minx, don’t try anything. I expect your friends’ll think they can get word back to England, but it won’t work. If they try to send a message, I’ll get to hear of it and you’ll be very, very sorry. Got that?’
Maclean looked me over, roughly buttoning my jacket to the neck. ‘Go to the inn with those men, act your part and come back on time. Do nothing to draw attention to yourself.’
With that parting endearment, he handed me back to Harkness.
The sky was an unpromising iron-grey as we landed in the boat at the harbour. Where were the sunny tropical skies I’d always imagined? It appeared that January in Bermuda was not a good time to visit. Harkness and Nightingale, however, were not disappointed: they planned to go straight to the nearest inn and leave tourism to others. My pleas to be allowed to wander fell on deaf ears.
‘Nay, lad, you’re coming with us,’ Harkness said. ‘We’ll teach you to drink like a real sailor.’
This was one skill I had no intention of mastering but my protests only encouraged them. They practically dragged me into a tavern, thumping a mug down on the table in front of me.
Now, Reader, I have always been of the opinion that strong drink makes men fools, rotting their gut and dulling their wits. To be honest, I would’ve preferred a cup of tea but could hardly request such luxuries here. I sipped the brew slowly, trying to consume as little as possible. Harkness fell into conversation with the comely barmaid, her skin as dark as the beer she served; Nightingale wandered over to a table in the corner where a crowd of men were gathered. Something seemed to be happening but from the occasional cries of pain and jeers I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.
‘Who’s the boy?’ the maid asked after a while, peering past Harkness to look at me more closely. When I turned away she interpreted it as shyness. ‘Aw, Honey, no need to be ’fraid of Mary Belle: you be too young for mah taste. Come back in a few years and maybe then we see!’ She gave a throaty laugh and blew me a kiss.
Harkness pretended to snatch the kiss from the air and clapped it on his lips. ‘Now, now, Mary Belle, I don’t want you corrupting my little friend here with your boldness. If you’re giving away favours, here’s a mouth that needs them.’ He gave her a hearty kiss, inducing much more laughter and wriggles from the maid. I turned my eyes away in embarrassment, gulping my drink in order to avoid looking at them.
Five minutes later, Nightingale was back. He dug Harkness in the ribs, distracting him from his tête-à-tête with the maid.
‘I think I’ll spend Mean Maclean’s money on one of those.’ He nodded to the corner.
Mary Belle rose from Harkness’s knee, stroked my face in passing and returned to her bar duties.
‘What’s that?’ queried Harkness, eyes still on the friendly maid. Nightingale grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face the other way.
‘Over there, mate.’
In the corner sat a foreign-looking man, Oriental I guessed, with a tray of equipment in front of him like a barber.
‘He’s doing tattoos. He’ll give you anything you want.’
I burst out laughing. There had been a fashion for tattoos started by Captain Cook when he brought back stories of the wild men of the South Pacific. All the rich men had had one – even royalty, they said. It seemed the practice was now spreading to us lower orders.
‘What’s so funny, Jimmy?’ Nightingale growled.
‘Nothing.’ I drowned my laugh quickly in a mouthful of ale. ‘What are you going to ask for?’
He scratched his head for a moment. ‘Well, I want something to impress the ladies. A bear, perhaps?’
I shook my head. ‘Too clumsy.’
‘A tiger?’
‘Maybe. A bit too fierce perhaps?’
He heard the doubt in my voice.
‘How about a wild boar?’ suggested Harkness.
‘Oh yeah,’ I snorted. ‘A pig, very appropriate. That’ll really impress them.’
Nightingale clipped me playfully around the ear. ‘Less of that cheek.’ He turned back to Harkness. ‘But he’s right. I know – a stallion!’
Pleased with his choice, he was soon huddled in the corner with the artist, his forearm outstretched.
I yawned and drank a little more. It must be strong stuff: my head felt as if it were muffled in hot towels. Harkness refilled my mug.
‘What are you going to go for?’ I asked sleepily.
‘I don’t know, son. Maybe I’ll have a heart with my wife’s name: Jennie. Yeah, I think that’d be good.’
‘You’d better make sure he spells it right.’ I drew the name in the dirt on the tabletop for him. ‘Your wife won’t be impressed if you come back with some other girl’s name on your arm.’
He squinted at the letters, memorizing them slowly. ‘Thanks, lad. What about you?’
‘Oh, I don’t want one.’ I now rested my head on my arms. Though if I had really been a boy, I thought blearily, it would have been amusing to have a tattoo. My friends in Covent Garden would be green with envy.
‘What about a squirrel? You go up and down the rigging like one sure enough.’
‘No, no.’ Harkness seemed strangely blurred. I closed my eyes. ‘If anything, I suppose I’d have a cat. But really, I don’t want one.’
‘What about your sweetheart’s name? I bet you left a girl pining for you in London, eh? What’s her name?’
My disguise required some proof of my masculinity it seemed. ‘My girl? Her name’s . . . her name’s Pansy, but I don’t want that either.’
With these last fatal words, I fell asleep.
I woke suddenly some time later to find someone gripping my shirt collar, pressing my head down on my arms. I struggled, thinking Maclean had got hold of me again, but then heard Nightingale laughing.
‘Keep him down, boys. We’re giving Tom Thumb a treat! We’re going to let his Pansy know what a little pussycat he is.’
‘Get off me!’ I squealed. My collar was wrenched back, exposing my neck, and then a sharp pricking pain pierced my shoulderblade.
‘Now, now, Jimmy, you mustn’t squeak like a girl. Take it like a man,’ said Harkness, roaring with laughter. ‘We’re giving you one on the house!’
My resistance was futile, only serving to attract the rest of the inn’s customers to enjoy the show. Finally, I was allowed up. I quickly buttoned my shirt up to the neck.
‘Don’t you want to see what we’ve done?’ asked Nightingale, handing the smiling tattooist a handsome tip. He then showed off his rearing stallion to me. Its hooves seemed to paw the air as he flexed his muscles. The artist had been good.
‘No I don’t, you . . .’ (I’m afraid the rest of the sentence has to be censored). My shoulder ached furiously and I was filled with dread that I now had something unspeakable that I’d have to carry with me for the rest of my days. Of course I wanted to see, just not here in front of all these strangers.
But Harkness and Nightingale thought it all a splendid joke. They slung their arms around my neck and swayed down the street with me between them, singing and shouting. They considered that they’d done me a favour and we’d all had a roaring good time of it.
Well, at least I was now well and truly one of the lads.