Song of the Sea Maid (12 page)

‘What is your name?’ I whisper to him.

‘Noy,’ he says proudly.

‘Your Christian name?’

‘Francis,’ he says, with some suspicion.

‘My name is Miss Dawnay Price. Shall we be friends, Francis? I know no one aboard and have never sailed in a ship. Will you show me how it is done and teach me its ways?’

The spell is broken and he grins broadly. ‘Certainly, miss. I will!’

‘My first question is this: how do we address your Lieutenant Commander Alexander? It is a bit of a mouthful, you see.’

‘Yes, miss. Well, hereabouts we call him Cap’n Alex. Will that do?’

‘That will do admirably. Thank you, Francis.’

The cabin door opens and Francis’s face falls, his body stiffens and he pipes up, ‘Miss Price, sir.’

‘Yes, boy. Off you go.’ He emerges without hat and closes the door to his room. I am only afforded the briefest glimpse inside and see a desk covered with maps and a variety of small instruments of his profession cast across the papers. I also note a red ribbon on his desk, and conjecture if his wife left it with him as a keepsake.

‘Miss Price, please allow me to conduct a brief tour of this deck and show you your quarters.’

‘Thank you, Captain Alex,’ I say, giving a small smile and watching for his reaction.

But his face betrays nothing as he directs me to a door before us. Our brief tour shows me that there are to be four educated men on board, sharing two cabins. After a stay of a month or so in Lisbon on business, the ship will travel onwards to Africa for these gentlemen to pursue their studies and our captain his cartographical duties. I am shown my own cabin, next door to the cabin of our captain. It would seem he plans to keep an eye on me, when he can, as my benefactor would wish. It is a tiny space, a bunk against one wall, a small dresser opposite with a single cupboard below. My trunk, already deposited there, takes up most of the floor space. It is simple, plain and yet it is mine. I already feel attached to it. My little wooden home.

On the deck below us I am shown the cabins of the ship’s surgeon, the master, the captain’s clerk and the gunner, facing the mates’ mess. An adjacent deck houses the remainder of the crew, such as the carpenter and his men, the sailmaker, the boatswain and his mate, the armourer and quartermaster, and a variety of other able seamen, more of whom are to join us at Falmouth. Captain Alex does not take me to any lower decks, I assume due to the proximity of the distasteful stink of the bilge that emanates from those quarters.

As he explains these details to me, I watch him speak and gesticulate, and I think of what my benefactor has told me about this man. This is his first command of his own ship. Lieutenant Commander Robin Alexander is ambitious, hoping to prove himself on this voyage. His father was in the Royal Navy, as were his grandfather and two uncles. He is the youngest of four children, the other three all sisters. What other path was there for him? He was born to go to sea. Next he will wish to be made master and commander, and then a post captain in charge of a large vessel. He must then prove himself in battle, upon which he will succeed to the Captains’ List and have a chance of further illustrious promotion. Thus, he must be keen for war to break out as soon as possible. I think of Owen’s leg. An ambitious naval man has a different outlook on such things than an ensign’s mother.

He leads me back up on to the main deck, at which point we are met by a flurry of well-dressed men all talking hurriedly and smiling and pointing about, coming towards us. I conclude these must be our four Gentlemen of Science, late arriving and excited to be here. Introductions are made and thus I am newly acquainted with the following:

Mr Mathison, a cartographer, who is to help Captain Alex chart a stretch of the north-west African coast; around the same age as me, and in awe of the lieutenant commander.

Mr Kendall, a botanist, who is to study the plants of North Africa and bring back samples and seeds, a man in his fifties, who has travelled across Europe and retrieved many specimens on a variety of intrepid expeditions. I look forward sincerely to picking his brains for ideas.

Mr Piper, whose interest is in the peoples and animals to be found in the African desert; a dandy of perhaps nineteen years of age, whose dress is fussy and wigs the height of fashion, with a lot of money to waste and yearning for adventure. I wonder how he will cope with desert living.

Dr Hodges, a physician who wishes to investigate African diseases and local remedies, an experienced doctor and seasoned traveller, around thirty or so; he has a rather irritating manner of looking away whenever someone else speaks, as if no one but himself has anything of note to impart. Or perhaps he is merely nervous.

I have some difficulty explaining my own interests to these men, as I have no particular label. I am not a surgeon or an astronomer, or another such recognised role. I say that I am studying the flora and fauna of island colonies, and thus this is accepted and I believe approved of. They are all men of independent wealth and I think find it rather amusing that a young woman is among them who presumes to know something of the world of science. We shall see how our first dinner goes, where I may either be utterly ignored, or mocked gently or investigated like one of their research topics. I am certainly an object of curiosity to one and all on this ship, as evidenced by the constant glances, smirks and downright staring I have received from almost every man and boy on board – except the captain – despite my austere dress. The fact remains I am a woman in a man’s domain and cannot escape it. I wish at these moments I had the power of invisibility, or at least could dress and speak convincingly as a man and therefore become of no consequence. I reassure myself that at least on my Portuguese island there will be few people and therefore fewer eyes to gawk and gape at my ridiculous femininity.

I excuse myself from male company to answer a call of nature in my cabin. There is a chamber pot secured under my bunk for the purpose. It is a relief to know I will not be required to point my hindquarters over the side of the ship as I have already glimpsed an able seaman do. My stomach churns and we have not yet set sail. I deliberate my choice to take this journey: to leave the safety of Mr Woods’s comfortable town house; to place myself in a world of men, wood and salt; to be at the mercy of winds, canvas, the sea’s moods and the lives of foreigners. It seems my taste for adventure is a child born to naïve optimism and foolish inexperience. As I squat on the pot, I look about for a receptacle in case I am to vomit. It seems my belly is a realist and is telling me in clear terms the risks I am taking in this lonely journey – alone, no friend, no ally. It was a rash decision and for a moment I almost blame my benefactor and even my tutor for not counselling me with more care, for failing to dissuade me from my rash course. But I know they are not to blame, that they would have needed to lock me in my room to have prevented me. I must face the fact that no one but my own self placed me here in this frightening journey into the unknown.

A tap on the door breaks into my misery.

‘Who is it?’ I squeak, stretching across to place my hand on the door in a sudden fear that someone will open it up to the unwelcome sight of me voiding my bowels.

‘Only Francis,’ says the boy. ‘Cap’n says I am to be your boy, miss. Fetch and carry for you and whatnot. Can I assist you in any way, miss?’

I hesitate, yet see nothing will serve but honesty. ‘You can help me in one minute, Francis, for I have a chamber pot to empty. Is this agreeable to you? Or I can do it myself.’

‘Of course, miss,’ comes his voice, the wood between us muffling it, yet perhaps I hear a catch in it, a hint of a giggle. ‘I’ve done that for gents before, a thousand times. Hand it over when you’re ready.’

‘Thank you, Francis.’

The ship begins to move while I am busy. When I am done, I find a stoppered jug of seawater, retrieve a lump of soap from my trunk and wash my hands. I come out to find Francis standing stiffly, back to me, hands clasped behind as is his customary stance. He turns and grins, and I am immediately at ease and hand him the pot covered with a cloth. He takes it without a word and is off. Back in my cabin, I wash my face and look at it briefly in a hand mirror. My hair is neatly tucked beneath my plain, cream cap, my cheeks are wan and there are shadows beneath my eyes, betraying my sleepless night. I will have to do. After all, in my mind I am not female or male, I am a natural philosopher, a term that has no sex. I rush upstairs to the deck, to find that our ship has been floated out from the dock and is well on her way towards the sea. Now there is no turning back. I watch the seamen about their business, see the Gentlemen of Science throng near the captain and the master’s mate discussing the weather, and confront my choice full face to the salty breeze.

It is three days’ sail to Falmouth. I have heard of the dreadful sickness suffered by those new to the sea. My experience of it is curiously halved, as out of thrice I was sick as a dog on the first day, sick again the morning of the second, yet after lunch on that day I began to feel better and was quite well again on the third. This progress gives me hope that I will eventually obtain my sea legs and trouble the water with my vomit no further. During the worst periods, I have lain on my bunk and moaned, attended by Francis who discards my watery offerings. When I am feeling a little better, I get out my papers and read in my berth. I am considering the idea that I may conduct a search for fossils on the island itself or on the mainland nearby, as I have discovered from a recent account of this area that there are ancient remains dispersed about the local landscape. I wonder what I shall find.

Eating seems to aid me with my sickness, though some of the Gentlemen of Science choose the opposite view and eat nothing for the first two nights. Therefore dining is a solitary affair, from a tray brought to me in my cabin. The days have been overcast and close, thus little to see on board but louring grey clouds. And so I have taken my papers and maps to one of the scientists’ work rooms and made further writings on my topic.

On the third day, we approach Falmouth and the wind falls. There is talk we will have to wait in port for days, if the weather does not rally. When we dock, I come upstairs away from my studies to watch the busy activity in port and aboard. I see the new crew arriving in dribs and drabs, helping to load up provisions into the holding areas in the lower decks. Some of the men are brought aboard stumbling, shoving and grumbling, by two midshipmen and the master with his gun about them. I realise these must be pressed men. My seasickness rises in my throat. These poor souls are shabby, sallow and slovenly, to a man. Not one of them looks well enough to fasten his own buttons.

I call Francis to ask to see the captain. I am led to his cabin, whereupon I am summoned to enter. He sits at his desk writing notes beside a diagram or two of waterways and coastal features. He puts down his writing equipment and turns to speak with me, still seated.

‘Yes, Miss Price. You wished to see me?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you. I have just been watching the crew come aboard. Are there to be pressed men as part of this crew, sir?’

‘There certainly are. Do not fear, miss. My officers and crew are well disciplined and will see they do not cause you nor a man else on board any mischief.’

‘I have no fears for myself, sir. But I have a strong objection to the press gang as a method for the procurement of the crew of the Royal Navy.’

He turns from me and goes back to his quill, taking a penknife from his pocket and sharpening the nib meticulously.

‘Life at sea is not an easy one, but it is a good career for any man. The Royal Navy does not have the luxury of a never-ending supply of willing seamen. Therefore, we are obliged to take from the streets the dregs who otherwise pollute it. And make them useful.’

‘You remind me of the founder of my orphanage, sir.’

‘Beelsby? Well, then I am pleased with the compliment. If indeed it was a compliment?’

‘Indeed it was
not
, sir. I believe the practice of impressment to be wholly wrong. My brother was pressed as a boy and I never saw him again. It is theft, it is a kind of slavery, any kind of which I disagree with in the strongest terms possible.’

‘Then please inform one of the crew if you wish to leave this ship here, and your trunk shall be deposited ashore at your convenience.’

I cross my arms and scowl at him.

‘Do you wish to leave my ship, Miss Price?’

‘I do not.’

‘Then kindly allow me to run it as I please. I would sooner allow a Frenchman to advise me than a woman. Good day to you.’

I know now that my benefactor hit the mark about this infuriating bigot. I ought to hold my tongue for the present, but once we are out into the open sea and away from land, I should be able to speak to him more or less as I please, for I do not think even he would throw me overboard, woman or not. I am looking forward to
those
discussions.

Still docked in Falmouth, and our stomachs recovering, we are all formally invited to dinner with the captain that evening, as a full complement of officers and guests. All the Gentlemen of Science attend. As we are in port, the food is fresh and well-supplied and we are served florendine of rabbit with scalloped potatoes.

‘This is an excellent dinner, Captain,’ I remark and there are various noises of agreement around the table.

‘Thank you, Miss Price,’ says he and raises a glass to me before sipping, smiling in a genuine fashion. Perhaps he is surprised to hear me speak with approval.

Say I, ‘I wonder what it is the men are eating this evening, the able seamen I mean. Do they have a similar spread?’

‘They are furnished with the required rations prescribed by the Royal Navy for their station.’

‘And what does that entail?’

‘Perhaps,’ says our captain pointedly and turns a cold eye upon me, ‘you would like to retire to speak with our quartermaster, or even the cook?’

I smile sweetly at him and one of the young officers interjects: ‘There is no need for Miss Price to leave us, sir, as I know precisely the daily ration of our able seamen, sir. If it be wished, sir, I can tell Miss Price, seeing as she is so interested in our life at sea.’