Fanny (54 page)

I watch’d all this with Amazement and Admiration, for before long, despite his gruff Refusals and Allegations that the Bauble must be stolen, together with his staunch Avowals that since we were neither Carpenters, Surgeons, Sail-Makers, nor Musicians, we were quite useless at Sea, our Fortunes had improv’d to such a Degree that the First Mate agreed to let us sail upon the
Hopewell
in Man’s Disguise!

“But I’ll have no Mischief below Decks,” said he, “or I’ll toss ye in the Drink, d’ye hear?”

To which we solemnly swore to be good as Nuns in a Cloister, and we begg’d of him some old Linen and Trowsers into which we might change as Disguise. Then we made haste to find a Doorway or Alleyway where we could slip into these ragged Clothes unobserv’d. (We were fortunate to find an open Warehouse—guarded only by a half-blind old Watchman—and there, behind some Tuns of Wine, we transform’d ourselves into Tars!) This being accomplish’d, we hasten’d back to the First Mate of the
Hopewell
, lest he change his Mind in our Absence and depart without us.

“Do we not look like proper Tars?” askt Susannah coyly, curtseying before our mercenary Saviour. We lookt so quaint that e’en this gruff Fellow had to smile, for, to be sure, his cast-off Clothes lookt better upon us than they e’er had done upon him. But then he quickly resum’d his gruff Composure and fell to warning us again.

“Seamen is a superstitious Lot, Sweethearts, an’ if they know there’s Women aboard, ’twill cause no end o’ talk o’ Curses an’ Bad Luck fer the Voyage, not to mention the Brawlin’ that’ll go on fer the two o’ ye. So I’m warnin’ ye now that I’ve a Mind to keep ye hid in my Cabin an’ if ye go so far as the Fo’c’sle without me Leave, I’ll tye ye together like any Common Cut-Throats an’ drop ye in the Briny Deep, d’ye ’ear?” Whereupon we again promis’d to be good as Gold; and Susannah repeated that perhaps we should find the
Cassandra
awaiting a Fair Wind in the Downs, in which case we should not need to trouble him further. Then we both fell upon bended Knee to proffer our Thanks.

The First Mate of the
Hopewell
(whose Name, by the by, was Mr. Cocklyn) hurried us aboard, carrying our stuff’d Portmanteau; for he said he wanted us safely stow’d in his Cabin before the Tars could look us o’er properly (and perhaps discover us for the Women we were).

I was astounded by the Smallness of the good Ship
Hopewell.
When Lancelot and Horatio had recounted their grave and glorious Adventures at Sea, I had envision’d grand Galleons, their Sails billowing in the Wind, their Cabins outfitted like Pyrate Palaces, and their Holds awash with Ducats and Doubloons, Crusadoes and Crowns, Shillings and Guineas, Louis d’ors from France and Golden Mohurs from the East Indies! But alas, the Reality of these Ships was quite diff’rent. The Brigantine
Hopewell
was but sixty Foot long and less than twenty Foot wide. She had a Fo’c’sle which also serv’d as Galley, one Great Cabin for the Captain (which was more Cabin than great, i’faith), a little Cabin behind it for the First Mate, and an e’en smaller Cabin behind
that
for the Steward, the Surgeon, and the Surgeon’s Mate. The Majority of the Tars had not yet boarded, and already the Ship was so crowded, ’twas impossible to imagine how there should be room e’en for the smallish Crew that sail’d her!

Susannah and I were install’d into narrow Berths in the First Mate’s Cabin, where we soon discover’d our Pallets to be alive with Lice and the Floors to be veritable Ballrooms for Assemblies of audacious Rats. The whole Ship had the most unsavoury Odour of Bilge Water mingl’d with the Scent of putrefied Cheese, and truly, had I not been in search of my beloved Babe, I would have quit that detestable Place forthwith; for it stank worse than Newgate itself and made the latter appear as a Palace—in Space, if not in Stench!

Was this how the New World had been discover’d, in Tubs such as this? And had the lusty, bawdy Buccaneers, those fearsome Fellows out of Esquemeling’s Pages, sail’d the Seas
thus
? Why then, they were far braver than I dreamt! For just to live aboard such a stinking Prison as this Ship took Courage. And what of William Dampier, Bartholomew Sharp, Lionel Wafer, Basil Ringrose—all those canny Chroniclers of the Pyrate Round—did they
too
take ship in such old Tubs?

Mr. Cocklyn must have seen my Distaste upon my Visage as he install’d Susannah and me in our Berths, for he now gave vent to a Panegyrick upon the
Hopewell
, which was design’d to make us appreciate our Good Fortune.

“Damme,” said Cocklyn, “the Devil an’ his Dam blow me from the Shrouds if this be not the finest Brigantine e’er to sail the Seven Seas! Why, she was built scarce four Year ago, an’ rigg’d in the latest Fashion—square on her Foremast, fore-an’-aft on her Mainmast—which makes a more weatherly Rig than a square-rigg’d Brig an’, when close-haul’d upon the Wind, will beat any Brig, Flute, or Merchantman whatsoe’er in Fair Weather or Foul! An’ as fer Comfort, why Lasses, there’s plenty o’ Ships where the Crew sleeps in Hammocks, not good solid Berths, an’ where the Rations is scantier than these! We’ve Salt Pork ev’ry Day, not Pease one Day an’ Pork the next, an’ Cheshire Cheese, an’ Grog aplenty to go ’round!”

“A fine Ship indeed,” said Susannah, who was the Soul of Diplomacy when the Occasion demanded it, for she quickly grasp’d that Cocklyn lov’d this Ship as he did his own Mother and to insult it was to dishonour him and perhaps to imperil our Search.

“Yes, yes, a fine Ship indeed,” said I, taking my Cue from Susannah. “Why the Rig is more weatherly than any I’ve seen—and modern, too.”

At that, Cocklyn’s Face lit up with Pleasure, tho’ he must have known I was but parroting his Words. Ah, La Rochefoucauld is right in saying that when we complain of Flattery, we are but complaining that it is not artfully enough done! For Flattery is the Universal Lubricant; it greases the Wheels of Commerce and Industry, creates Good Will both in the midst of Courtly Pomp and upon Humble Hearth; and it e’en eases the Path to Glory of the Dauber or the Scribbler (tho’ the Latter both pretend to be above it).

“That’s right, Lasses, she’s a fine Ship, a fine Ship, indeed. Why, if yer good, I may teach ye a bit o’ Sailin’ an’ make ye useful aboard, fer yer outward bound on the finest Brigantine upon the Atlantick an’ ye’ll not be sorry ye sail’d with her!” In a few short Minutes Cocklyn had gone from trumpeting the Miseries of Sea-Travel to praising his beloved Brigantine; ’twould have been comical did not Belinda’s Life depend upon it!

After Cocklyn took leave of us, Susannah and I settl’d ourselves as comfortably as we could in the dreadful Cabin and lookt at each other with Foreboding, wond’ring what more the Fates might have in store after this.

“There’s nought to do now but pray,” said Susannah, falling to her Knees upon the Floor of the Cabin, for Susannah, I have perhaps neglected to tell, was notable for her Belief that she was one of few Mortals upon Earth who had direct Access to God’s Ear and that her Pray’rs were heard when others’ were crassly ignor’d. The Vicissitudes of her Early Life had endu’d her with a curious Notion of God, deriv’d in part from her Quaker Mistress, in part from her deprav’d Master (who’d fancied little Girls), and in part from the young Thieves and Chimney Sweeps with whom she’d cavorted before I met her. She’d a pow’rful Belief in the Devil, whom she conceiv’d was at Work whene’er a Pott boil’d o’er, a Catarrh linger’d, or a Guinea was lost; but likewise she’d a pow’rful Belief in God, whom she believ’d had a more sympathetick Ear to Black Voices than to White ones, owing to the greater Suff’rings of their Possessors. Likewise, she conceiv’d that she must intercede with Heaven upon my Behalf, for Heaven would not hear me without her Pray’rs, and ’twas her Duty to save my Soul as well as care for my Body. She took her Role as Servant in a most spiritual Sense and was resolv’d to succour my Immortal Soul as well as attend to my grosser physical Needs. Thus charged with the weighty Matter of my Salvation as well as her own, she had near worn out her Knees with Praying since she came into my Service.

Whilst Susannah pray’d and mutter’d upon bended Knee, I myself knelt to beseech Heaven, and most especially the Great Goddess, upon whose Holiness Isobel and the Witches had insisted. O I would ne’er tell Susannah of the Witches’ Coven lest she think me a Worshipper of the very Devil she fear’d, but how could I explain to her that Witchcraft was not what it appear’d, that, i’faith, ’twas a Creed she would approve if only she knew its Essence as I did?

I whisper’d to Heaven the Words a fond Mother whispers as she kneels by her Babe’s Cradle, looking down at the sleeping Angel born out of her own Body, with its golden Eyelashes flutt’ring upon its Sleep-flusht Cheaks, and its tender pink Lips clos’d o’er toothless Gums.

“May you brave the Dangers of Childhood, my Darling, my Daughter, my Fledgling, my Phoenix, and rise out of the Mists of Infancy to clothe yourself in the fine Flesh of Womanhood, growing from the unform’d Babe into the perfected Woman, who glides with Assurance thro’ this perilous World, having slipp’d past all the Devastations of Disease, the myriad Calamities of Childhood, to come away miraculously unscath’d, holding your Head high in the Radiance of Womanhood, walking with straight, swift Legs along the Paths of your Destiny, to find at last the True Mission for which the Goddess placed you here upon this Earth, and to fulfill it with Joy and Vigour—this is your Mother’s Pray’r.”

So saying to myself, I fell prostrate upon the Floor and wept an Ocean of Tears on whose Tide we might sail away in search of Belinda, who now seem’d as far as the Land of Eldorado or the Fountain of Eternal Youth, and infinitely more precious.

CHAPTER VII

Containing a Storm at Sea, a Scene which should perhaps be skipp’d o’er by those with squeamish Stomachs, and the Entrance into our History of the notorious Captain Whitehead.

A
S SUSANNAH AND I
remain’d virtual Prisoners in the Cabin during the Sailing, I did not observe the Activity upon Deck as the
Hopewell
broke Ground, weigh’d Anchor, or whate’er ’tis the Seamen call it, upon her Passage thro’ the Thames to Gravesend, and thither towards the Downs. Ne’ertheless, from the Creaking of the Ship’s Timbers and the continual Shouting that went on above us, not to mention the Thunder of Seamen’s Feet directly above our Heads, ’twas apparent we were outward bound.

For most of the Ev’ning we were left alone whilst the First Mate attended to his Duties upon Deck. ’Twas customary in those Times for Pilots to take Ships to the Open Sea, and for the haughty Captains to come aboard later when all such mundane Tasks were accomplish’d. Just when Captain Whitehead boarded, I know not, owing to my Imprisonment. I can only say that I caught no Glimpse of Sea nor Sky until Mr. Cocklyn came to fetch us at Dawn. For in our Weariness from the Exertions and Agitations of the Day, Susannah and I had fallen asleep and were dead to this World until then (I was dreaming myself back in Lymeworth with Belinda), when a rouzing Shake from Mr. Cocklyn brought me to my Senses and reminded me of the Misery of my Plight.

“Come, Lasses,” says Cocklyn, “I’ll take ye up on Deck, fer we’re anchor’d off North Foreland in nine-fathom water, and ’tis a lovely Sight at Dawn.”

We were swiftly hustl’d out of our Berths and brought up on Deck in the beauteous Glow of early Morn, whereupon our wond’ring Eyes beheld the shimm’ring Sea Light, suffus’d with Rose, which is Nature’s Gift to Mariners in return for the Harshness of their Lives.

Many Ships lay at Anchor around us. I spy’d the
John & Martha
(“a fine Galley o’ twenty Guns,” said Cocklyn); the
Delicia
(“a beggarly Brigantine, not half so Sea-worthy as the
Hopewell
”); the Sloop
Childhood
, out of New Providence (“a well-known Pyrate Port”); and many other tall Ships with curious Names such as
Paradox
,
Pelican
,
Batchelor’s Adventure
, and
Merry Christmas.
But the
Cassandra
was nowhere to be seen, e’en thro’ the Spying-Glass Cocklyn proffer’d.

“’Tis no Matter, Lasses,” Cocklyn said, “we may yet catch her ere we come thro’ the Channel.”

Thro’ the Spying-Glass I could see Tars on neighbouring Ships scampering up the Shrouds and Masts like so many barefoot Monkies. All the Particulars of Sea-Travel amaz’d me, but I was very much surpriz’d by the raggamuffin Look of the Tars and the strenuous Exertions of their Tasks. I had scarce dreamt that Sailing made Monkies of Men, and I fancied that an agile Woman might do as well as any Tar—nay, better.

I did not share my Thoughts with Cocklyn, but instead distracted myself from my constant Worry o’er Belinda’s Fate by asking him to tell us a bit more concerning the Design of Ships—for some had two Masts, some three, some only one, and I doubted not but these Distinctions were of great Importance.

“That they are, Lasses,” said Cocklyn, pleas’d to be askt to discourse of Ships, his favourite Subject in all this Watery World. “The one-masted Ship ye see there—the
Childhood
—is a Sloop, belov’d by Pyrates an’ Smugglers—fer she’s swift as the Wind, fore-an’-aft-rigg’d, but fer her square Topsail, an’ she’ll go as quick as twelve Knots in a Fair Wind. But with so much Sail, she’s a Bitch in a Gale, an’ many’s the Time I’ve seen the Tars scurryin’ to saw away the Mast ere the Wind heels ’em o’er into the Drink. With a Sloop in a Storm, ye might as well kiss yer Arse Goodbye—beggin’ yer Pardon, Ladies. Now, that Ship there, the
Delicia,
is call’d a Brigantine like our own Vessel here—tho’ to my Mind she’s an old Tub an’ not e’en Worthy o’ the fine Name o’ Brigantine. She’s two-masted, square-rigg’d on both Main an’ Fore—which drives fair enough in a quarterin’ Wind but is well-nigh useless when sailin’ to Windward. The
Hopewell
here is fore-an’-aft-rigg’d on the Mainmast an’ square on the Foremast—which makes a more—”

“Weatherly Rig?” askt Susannah, who also knew a bit of Sea Lingo from her Childhood Travels, and anyway could parrot as well as I.