Emily (27 page)

Emily clung on as the ladder shook and with terrified eyes looked down. The women in the
lighter shrieked and cried, ‘Get her out. Get her out. Save her, for God’s sake!’

The seamen pulled on the oars to where she had fallen in and Emily was left stranded, clinging to the side of the ship, with nothing below her but the deep water which had just swallowed up the old woman. She looked up, the seamen on board had rushed to the side on hearing the shrill cries.

‘Man overboard,’ someone shouted. ‘Fetch a grapnel.’

Emily started to climb, her heart raced and she dared not look down and somehow she reached the deck, where she was hauled aboard. She looked over the side. They were searching in the water with a grappling hook, but the woman had gone. Weighted down by her chains and her misery she appeared just once before the waters gathered her in and closed over her.

‘Get this lot below.’ A harsh command was shouted and Emily was bundled with others already waiting on deck, towards a companionway. She stumbled down steep ladders below decks, almost falling on top of the other women as the press of prisoners came up behind her, below again to a lower deck until they came to a halt between decks, where, bent double, for they could not stand upright, they were told to stay. A grated barricade spiked with iron confronted them and wooden hatches above let in only a dim light. The air was foul and damp and as, in silence, they gazed at their surroundings the door was clanged shut behind them and they were left in darkness.

Time had ticked by as Philip discussed with Roger Francis and Mrs Edwards the chances of obtaining a reprieve for Emily. He had travelled back with them from York to Hull, which was the original point of Emily’s arrest, and talked to the magistrates’ clerk, who had given him little hope unless the complainant agreed to withdraw charges. But Hugo Purnell had disappeared. He was not at his own home in Hessle or at his mother’s house and she did not know of his whereabouts.

‘I haven’t seen him since he went to York for the trial,’ Mrs Purnell complained at Philip’s enquiry. ‘He’ll be angry about the report in the newspapers, I expect. It said’, she lowered her voice, ‘that he wasn’t a reliable witness. What shame! I can’t believe anyone would say that of my son!’

‘I shall go to London,’ Philip told Roger Francis and Mrs Edwards when they met in her home behind the flower shop. ‘I will ask at the Home Office what must be done to rectify this injustice. And if you could continue to look for Purnell, sir?’

‘I will.’ Roger Francis looked strained. ‘I am anxious also about my daughter. Emily warned me,
and I fear for Deborah’s condition if she is not cared for.’

Philip looked from one to another. ‘I don’t understand. Your daughter surely isn’t under any threat from her husband?’

‘Mr Francis’s daughter has a delicate constitution,’ Mary Edwards explained. ‘She might well suffer under the strain of all the past events. She needs care, and Hugo Purnell seems to be incapable of providing it.’

As Philip settled himself in the railway carriage to take him on the first leg of his journey to London, he pondered on how Hugo Purnell had come to meet and marry Roger Francis’s daughter, and how surprising it was that he had taken on the responsibility of a delicate wife, when, he reflected, it seemed out of character for the fellow. It could only be money, he decided, no other reason. And as he ruminated on this and then on Emily, he remembered that he never had received the money which Hugo owed him, which Mrs Purnell had endeavoured to pay and which was stolen from Emily. So the blackguard still owes me!

A blank wall of bureaucracy confronted him when he enquired about the petition of reprieve. He was sent from one office to half a dozen others, from one clerk to six more and in each case was given a sheaf of papers, each with dozens of questions requiring intricate answers. Finally, one clerk, more helpful than the others, suggested, ‘Why don’t we look at the prison lists, sir?’ He had observed Philip’s naval uniform. ‘If we could find out where the prisoner is held,
perhaps you could delay her departure.’

They poured over the Assize agenda books of female convicts tried at the county courts, until finally, the clerk, with his practised eye exclaimed, ‘Hah! Here we are. Emily Hawkins of York, committed for trial on charge of neglect of newborn child. Charges withdrawn. Wilful damage to property. Sentenced to three years’ transportation. Would that be the lady, sir?’ His friendly gaze had withered somewhat as he read out the details.

‘Yes. Yes! Does it say where she is?’

‘The
Flying Swan
.’ The clerk snapped the book closed. ‘I fear you are too late, sir. I saw the ship only yesterday. The convicts are boarded. She’s ready to sail.’

Philip gazed vacantly at the clerk. So there is no time to ask for a reprieve! What shall I do? What can I do? And as he walked out into the damp overcast afternoon, he realized that there was only one thing that he could do if he wanted to save Emily, and that was to try and obtain orders to sail with the
Flying Swan
.

‘I really need the experience, sir.’ Philip pleaded with his father’s old friend and shipmate, Commander Allen. ‘I’ve served on paddle and propeller, but old wooden ships like the
Flying Swan
will soon be obsolete. I’d like to think that I had once sailed with only the power of sail.’

‘I quite agree,’ Commander Allen said heartily. ‘Your father and I know that sailing a square rigger is the very best kind of life, but there are other ships. You surely don’t want to sail in such an old
tub with a holdful of convicts? And to Australia of all places!’

‘Yes, sir, I’d like to see Australia.’ He was clutching at straws. He had to get a position on the ship now that he had discovered that Emily was on board. ‘It’s an up-and-coming country, so I hear.’

‘Pah!’ The commander leaned back in his chair. ‘The place is full of thieves and murderers! They’re not even wanted when they arrive.’

‘But there are the emigrants, sir.’ Philip insisted. ‘People are going in their thousands.’

‘Yes, but what sort of people are they?’ Commander Allen shook his head. ‘Not our kind. They’re poor farmers, labourers, folk without any hope or money, they’ll not do any better in that empty land than they’ve done here.’

Philip’s spirits sank. He didn’t know who else to appeal to. Commander Allen was the last person of influence that he knew.

‘Still,’ Commander Allen sighed, ‘if you’re determined.’ He picked up a pen and reached for a sheet of paper. ‘Go and see Captain Martin, he’s in command. But don’t set your hopes on it. She sails in a couple of days, so he might well have a full complement of men. Give him my regards.’

Philip beamed, thanked him and took his letter of introduction. At last! One more hurdle to get over, and there had been so many.

He finally found Captain Martin in an inn near the dockside, and presented his letter of introduction from Commander Allen. He read it with a frown above his nose. ‘Well, Mr Linton,’ he said, looking up, ‘your credentials are excellent as are
your references, but I’m fully manned. If you’d been here a week ago when I was desperately short of manpower!’ He was a small man with an anxious face and fading red hair. ‘Nobody wants to sail a convict ship any more, they’re nothing but trouble even when we reach Australia. I’ve had to promise every man a bonus if we make good time. We’re easting down, non-stop via the Canaries, Rio, and downwind to the Cape. Three months! Three and a half at the most.’

Philip’s face must have showed his disappointment, for the captain added, ‘Why this ship?’

‘I’ve heard so much about her, sir,’ he lied. ‘And I wanted to sail under canvas only.’

‘Did you, by jove! What a pity.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Good navigator are you?’

‘Yes, sir.’ His hopes rose. ‘I completed my examinations at Trinity House some time ago.’

‘Mm. Well, it still don’t make a difference,’ Captain Martin said. ‘I haven’t a place for you. Pity you’re not a sawbones. If you had been I could have made use of you!’

Philip shook his head. ‘I’m not a medical man, sir, and I don’t have a warrant as such, but I’ve completed courses on treatment of accidents on board ship, bandaging, medication and so on, and I’ve read up on naval hygiene, seamen’s maladies, cases of typhus and the treatment required and so on.’

‘Have you?’ Captain Martin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. I don’t suppose you would consider – no, of course you wouldn’t, you have a fine career ahead of you.’

‘What, sir?’ he asked eagerly. ‘What had you in mind?’

Captain Martin looked around. The inn was full of seagoing men, eating and drinking. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’ve got a surgeon-superintendent. Excellent fellow. The very best.’

He paused and Philip fervently wished he wouldn’t dither so much but just speak what was on his mind.

‘Except for one thing.’ He put his mouth close to Philip’s ear. ‘He’s a drunk! Can’t hold his liquor.’

Philip waited. What was he going to suggest?

‘I couldn’t get anyone else and I can’t sail without a surgeon, so I had to take him. Now, you may not agree of course, and the rate of pay wouldn’t cover a lieutenant’s rank – more like a midshipman, but it would help me tremendously if you could come on board as his mate. Keep him off the rum, you know, and help with general duties in the sick berth. There’s always sickness on a convict ship. Poor beggars are half-dead before they’re brought aboard.’

‘I’ll do it, sir. Be glad to.’ Relief rushed over him. ‘It er, it will be a great experience for me.’

‘Hm!’ Captain Martin eyed him candidly. ‘It will certainly be that. But you might wish that you had done otherwise at the end of it. This will be a tricky run. We’ve got females on board as well as men and that always means trouble, and mark my words, none of them’ll be wanted when we reach Sydney. We’ll be lucky if we’re not turned back. But still, come along, Mr Linton.’ He rose from the table.
‘Let’s get your orders sorted out before you change your mind.’

Later as he stowed his gear in the cabin he began to rationalize his actions. He must be completely mad! This was such a very old ship, though she was sound. She had been fully inspected by the Navy Board in order to take the convicts, and the contractor had honoured his obligation to provide ample provisions. Philip’s cabin, one of five on the main deck plus the master’s cabin, was no more than six feet in length and, as in other ships in which he had sailed, had such a low ceiling that he was unable to stand upright. He was provided with a small desk and a wooden chair and a hammock was slung alongside a storage cupboard.

He fastened his father’s old sea box to the leather strap which was attached to the deck planking and wondered how his parents would react to the brief letter he had sent them to say he was sailing for Australia. He took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks behind the door, stowed the hammock to the wall and sat down on the chair. Well, he thought. Here I am. I made my decision for better or worse and I may not even see Emily! Two hundred female convicts on board, what chance do I have of talking to her and will she want to see me or talk to me?

He stacked his books on the shelf above the desk, then took his spare clothing and stowed it in the cupboard and went out on deck to meet his fellow officers.

The upper deck was strewn with blocks, tackles, chains and rope as the able seamen made their last
overhaul before leaving port. Philip strode over it, knowing that in just a few hours all would be in place and ready for use. Above on the yards and ratlines young seamen and boys crowded like swallows waiting for the call, as they checked the rigging and checked again.

A small boat was being rowed towards the ship and he could hear the sound of singing from its one and only passenger. He leaned over the bulwark and watched as the bowman raised his oars vertically, shipped them and steadied the vessel to enable the passenger to climb the jack ladder. He was dressed in an officer’s uniform and carried his hat between his teeth. Philip put out a hand to help him aboard and breathing heavily he fell onto the deck.

‘Thank you good sir, much obliged.’ His words were slurred and thick, and Philip guessed that here was the surgeon he was to work under, Mr Clavell.

‘I thought I was adrift.’ Mr Clavell clambered to his feet and raised his arm in a salute to the seaman below as he shoved off clear of the ship. ‘If that young fella hadn’t reminded me which ship I was supposed to be on – I couldn’t remember.’ He gave a small belch. ‘I knew it was
Flying
something or other with convicts on board.’ He gazed glassily around. ‘This is it, I suppose?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Philip grinned. ‘The
Flying Swan
. Captain Martin is master.’

Mr Clavell sighed. ‘Ah! And you are?’

‘Lieutenant Linton, sir. I’m to be your mate.’

‘My mate? Nobody said I was to have a mate! Jolly
good. Glad to meet you. I’m sure we’ll get on.’ He returned a wobbly salute. ‘Tell you the truth,’ he lowered his voice and put a hand on Philip’s shoulder, ‘tell you the truth, Mr Minton –’.

‘Linton, sir!’

‘Yes. Well –! Oh yes. Tell you the truth, I’m three sheets to the wind and I really must have a zizz. Do you happen to know where my cot is?’

Philip found the surgeon’s cabin, which was next to his own and thought it fortunate that Mr Clavell’s cot was a wooden one and fixed to the wall of his cabin, as he doubted if he would have been able to get him into a swinging hammock like his own. He took off the surgeon’s coat and removed his boots and placed them neatly where he wouldn’t fall over them and then went in search of the captain to report that the surgeon was on board.

‘Was he drunk, Mr Linton?’ the master asked.

‘Half seas over sir,’ Philip admitted. ‘He’s sleeping it off.’

‘Just as well we don’t need him! Well, Mr Linton, you must have a good reason for setting sail in such a hurry, but I’m glad to have you aboard. Are you escaping some young woman?’

‘No, sir.’ It wouldn’t do, he thought, to tell Captain Martin the real reason for being on board the
Flying Swan
. ‘Not escaping from – but searching for.’