Song of the Sea Maid (28 page)

‘
Adéu, doncella
,’ says he and I grasp his hand in thanks.

Then Francis helps me step over to the rope ladder hanging from the ship. I hand my blanket and shawl to the boy, grasp my skirts in one hand to sweep them aside and place one boot firmly on the bottom rung. I am stepping up and swaying somewhat, determined not to lose my grip. I do not fear accident as much as humiliation, if I fell and got a soaking or landed on poor Francis and broke his nose. There are hands grabbing my upper arms and in a trice I am swooped up and landed on deck, almost toe to toe with my Robin, dressed casually in dark breeches and white shirt, without hat or wig, and I must force myself to stand upright and not fall into his arms. I do not know what his men have been told of me, but I suspect Robin’s reputation depends on my discretion and fortitude. So I bow my head and give a quick sink to the captain.

‘Thank you, sir, for allowing me aboard.’

‘You are welcome, Miss Price. I will show you to your cabin. Your luggage will be brought to you. You must be very tired.’

I feel his hand at my arm and hear whisperings and grunts from the seamen on deck as I am led to the stern of the ship and some steps down. We enter a commodious room, a table and chairs at the centre, covered in scrolls of paper, pens and inkwells, a jug of wine and glasses. And I hear the door close behind me and we are in each other’s arms and kissing, kissing.

‘Darling, my darling,’ he whispers. ‘You were meant to come another day.’ He holds me and looks at me, at my mouth, my hair, as if he cannot quite believe his eyes. ‘After the battle, when it is safer. Francis has proved himself quite the idiot.’

‘Do not blame him. He explained it to me perfectly. It is I who chose to come now. I knew the danger. But how could I wait? To know you were here, only a matter of miles away. I could not wait, I could not! Do not be angry with Francis, or with me, my love.’

And we kiss again and fall into each other.

There is a knock at the door and we must stand apart. I swiftly walk to the window that stretches across the entire width of the stern, affording a view in all directions. I gaze out at the nothing of fog and night, the door opens and men have brought my box and my bag, my shawl and blanket, and are instructed by Robin to take it through to a room off this one, where I spy a cot and desk, covered with more papers.

‘But Captain, that is your night-cabin, is it not?’

‘I am to bunk with my first officer this night, Miss Price. I am more than happy to give up my room for an English lady who has so bravely evaded our enemy. It is our pleasure and our honour to accommodate you here.’

A speech for the seamen’s benefit and I thank him. When they are gone, I ask him, ‘What do they know, Robin?’

His face falls. ‘Nothing. I have told them nothing, not even Francis. As far as they know, you are an Englishwoman requiring rescue from the island and that is all. This is most irregular and I could be in a lot of trouble for doing it.’

‘My dear!’

‘No, it was my choice. I took the risk. It is on my head.’

‘I would do nothing to endanger you, Robin. Will there be repercussions? Should we call back my friend in the boat?’

‘No, no! You are not going anywhere. My men I believe are loyal and respect me. They know of my credentials, of my hard experiences at sea, and they honour me for them. And I am fair with them and not overly harsh and they know it. I feed them good victuals, provide a clean and airy ship – as far as I am able – and a promise of reasonable and prompt payment for any prize. There may be grumblings about a woman on board, especially the night before battle, but I do believe they will keep their counsel and all will be well. But we must be careful and circumspect and never act in the way of lovers about them.’

‘Of course. You must go. You have been in here far too long already.’

He stands and gazes at me, shakes his head. ‘It is a miracle to have you here with me now.’ Then his face changes and his stance stiffens, as if we are not alone. ‘But there are battle plans to discuss, and I must see my officers. It will be light soon and I believe the admiral will call for us to come into formation very soon.’

‘I wish to be useful. I wish to help during the battle. I have knowledge of anatomy. I could assist the surgeon.’

‘You will stay in my night-cabin over there and sit on your bed like a good girl and do nothing of the sort.
That is an order.
I cannot be fearful for your safety while I am to carry out my duty as captain of this ship. You must promise me you will stay put in that room and not move. For once, Dawnay Price,
do as you are told
.’

‘I will,’ I say, and dutifully oblige. For the moment.

Robin goes to his men and I to the night-cabin and sit on the cot for a minute or two. Then I cross to the desk in here and look at the maps spread out upon it, one titled St Stephen’s Cove
and another Sandy Bay
.
I think of him studying these maps and making his plans; in charge of the actions of all these men aboard, who look to him for instruction and wisdom. I swell with pride at the thought of it, though I know he is not mine, he belongs to another. I will not think of her now. I leave the cot, sit by the window in the day-cabin and watch the sky lighten and the fog begin to thin. I listen to the ship coming to life, the thumping of heavy boots on deck, the banging of doors, the shouting and coughing of many men about their business, and the slap-slap-slap of the sea against the hull. I have had no sleep all night and I cannot keep my head from nodding. I plod to the captain’s bunk and lay myself down, wrapping Francina’s blanket about me and nestling my cheek against Robin’s coverlet. I can smell his scent there, familiar, desirable. In moments, I am fast asleep.

I am woken by Francis, gently, who holds a bowl of porridge. The ship is moving and I start up from the bed.

‘It’s all right, miss. It’s time, now. We’re getting into line.’

‘What will happen next? Explain everything to me.’

‘We are a twenty-four-gun sixth-rate frigate and we accompany a ship-of-the-line, the
Defiance
, under Captain Andrews. We’ll line up opposite the French and we’ll be trying to get in the right place to fire our broadsides at ’em. The French will likely go for our rigging and try to cripple us as they like to hit a fellow then run away. But we’ll do our best to dodge ’em and bring ’em down, miss.’

‘I want to be helpful.’

‘You eat now.’ He ignores my offer. Robin must have spoken with him. ‘I’ll keep coming to check on you. Stay here, though, won’t you? Captain’s orders.’

I am ravenous and shovel in the cold oats. I come into the main room and look out through the window to see one ship to our left; to the right, a magnificent line of ships extends out to more than a dozen in ragged formation, all sailing forward together, the men climbing on the rigging and toing and froing over each deck. I am filled with the thrill of the sea, and suddenly understand the appeal of a life in the Royal Navy. It is a spectacular sight to see these sculpted wonders whipping over the waves and it fills me with awe at the ingenuity of humans, who can use their minds to create a machine of such clever industry. I cannot stay put in this room when there is so much to see. I resolve to sneak up the stairs to the deck and peek out. I am determined to be an ocular witness of my first battle at sea, at least the beginning of it. I am not afraid. I am too curious for that. I venture up the stairs and peer over the top, ready to duck down if spotted and trot back into the captain’s cabin. I look up to see a set of square-rigging, much grander than Robin’s old command. Here there are four stupendous sails on each mast and acres of criss-cross rigging creating an elaborate complication of rope. We are moving quite swiftly and as yet, there is no panic in the air to suggest imminent danger, so I take my chances with the captain’s wrath, and decide to venture up to the top step and step cautiously out on deck. The sun is high in the sky, so I must have slept all morning.

My eye seeks Robin first and there he is, standing with other officers, dressed in his full uniform: dark blue coat with white facing stripes, blue breeches and white stockings. His face in repose wears an aspect of relaxed good humour, as if he were attending a fête, not a battle. I see him nod at a companion’s statement and reply, ‘Indeed. I never saw a finer line.’ Around us men are hurrying about, making final preparations for what is to come. There are small groups of men positioned at different parts of the deck, heads back surveying the sails as if ready to make quick adjustments. Some are soldiers armed with muskets who finger and tinker with their weapons, then begin to move into positions. Officers are shouting orders and word goes fore and aft. Below I can discern the sound of many men moving heavy objects across floors, perhaps sea chests or tables, perhaps for the surgeon and his mates, or the men who arm the guns. All hands are now ordered to their quarters. Robin calls an order, which is repeated by a bellowing voice below thrice: ‘Load double shot.’ Behind us is the island of Minorca, beyond us the mighty line of French ships. I can see the scarlet flash of the French officers’ uniforms and a stabbing fear in the pit of my stomach reminds me brutally that they are the enemy, we are at war, and they wish to destroy us.

A boom from away to our left signals the first cannon shot. I turn on my heel and fly down the steps. I hear Robin’s voice shouting more orders, and though I am fearful, I cannot leave this spot and hide, a coward cowering in bed. I sit down on a middling step and listen to the deck from here. I hear the cannons play and clasp my hands tightly. There is more shouting and then I hear Robin has moved, closer to my hiding-place, and is saying, ‘Good God! What can the admiral mean?’ And other men are shouting and cursing. Robin again: ‘Now is the time: he must make all the sail he can and fall in with the enemy!’

‘What can be happening?’ I hear another officer shout. ‘You on the quarterdeck, all of you. Take good note of the admiral’s movements. Be witnesses!’

Then another voice: ‘Cornwall has broken the line!’

An almighty racket of gunshot breaks out, as the fusiliers give volleys of small arms and I duck my head and cover my ears. I feel a hand tugging my sleeve and find Francis with a face like thunder impelling me to return to my station of bed-rest. Once safely ensconced on the captain’s cot, I ask the boy, ‘What on earth is happening, Francis? Is something amiss?’

‘It is madness! The admiral tacked too late. So our sister ship the
Defiance
crowded on sail to draw abeam of her opposite French number, but the admiral is holding back at the other end of the line and signalling that all should do so, when we are in the perfect position to fall in. And Captain Cornwall of the
Revenge
has gone against orders and attacked. Now three ships are on the
Defiance
and we must manoeuvre to … hold on, looks like we’re keeping back.’ He runs to the window and calls, ‘The French have sheered off! I told you they do that! Stay here, miss. If you please!’

And with that, off he races up the steps and I creep from my room to see more, but the whole window is masked by thick dark grey smoke and I can see nothing through it. But then looms the shape of a French ship only a few hundred yards from us and the cannon fire explodes above and I am sent tripping back to my refuge and behind the night-cabin door. The roar of the cannons is all about us and there is a loud crack above and something enormous crashes on the deck. Is it a mast shot down? If Robin was below it! I cannot bear to leave this room and I cannot bear to stay. I force myself up, up, up the steps and peer through the smoke to see a section of mast has indeed struck the deck and men are pulling it to one side and then I see my Robin’s blue-coated back – thank heavens! – and he turns aside, shouting to another officer, ‘We cannot! You see my hands are tied!’

A mariner approaches him and says, ‘Just the mizzen-top-mast, sir. No more serious damage.’

Then a hearty cry goes up from many men: ‘Huzzah! Huzzah!’ and a voice cries, ‘The French are hit!’

And another, ‘No, ’tis the
Defiance.
Cap’n Andrews is down!’

A waft of black smoke billows across the deck and I lose sight of everything. I hear Robin’s voice: ‘Cut away that rigging. Port tack.’

‘We can’t make headway,’ shouts another voice. ‘
Defiance
is flung up in the wind.’

‘Gap in the line!’ comes from high above, perhaps a man up in the rigging above the smoke, which descends once more and causes my eyes to sting and weep. I creep back down and sit abed, listening to the lessening reports of gunfire and the now more distant rumble of the cannonading and perceive the battle may be waning, hoping against hope that this smoke-filled nightmare is finally coming to a close, or at least a pause in the engagement. At last, the firing falls quiet for some time and it seems it has ceased.

Francis appears.

‘You all right, miss?’

‘Yes, but how is the captain?’

‘Oh, he’s all right. He’s done so very well for his first action. All the men are singing his praises. And all are cursing the admiral.’

‘Did we win?’

‘Nobody won, miss. The French are heading north-north-west. We’re coming round in case they renew the action. But it’s coming on dusk soon and we’ll lose the light. I think it’s over.’

Francis is breathing heavily, his cheeks blackened with smoke, his clothing dishevelled and his hair a fright, but his eyes are alight with excitement and I do believe he is having the time of his life.

‘I’ll bring you some supper soon. Must get back up now.’

I wait a while then go up myself. Men are clearing up all over the deck and making repairs, coughing and chattering, the carpenter and his assistants at work among the ruins of the mast, the officers arguing about something, hands raised, at the bow. The smoke has dispersed and the sky is dark blue, fading to night. Robin appears beside me, his face a picture of exhaustion and elation.

‘Are you well, Miss Price?’ asks he.

‘I am. And you, Captain Alex?’