Emily (31 page)

So the women were allowed to stay on deck and they lay on the planking and still sweated as the ship coursed on towards the equator and the male convicts grumbled and complained when they were brought back down at midnight.

Captain Martin became feverish and couldn’t stand and Lieutenant Boyle took over command. This caused Philip some annoyance as the officer had been particularly disagreeable towards him on discovering that Emily was visiting his cabin. ‘Found out if she’s clean, Linton?’ he’d sneered. ‘That’s what you were worried about, isn’t it? Bothered about whether she’s had the clap!’

Now that the captain was out of commission, Boyle, though he was a good seaman, took great pleasure in issuing fresh orders contrary to those of Captain Martin. ‘Get the women down below,’ he barked one evening. ‘We’ll have no mollycoddling whilst I’m in charge.’

The women shouted and screamed as they were pushed below and the men too objected on their behalf. ‘Let them up, sir, they’ll do no harm,’ a voice called from the men’s side.

‘Who’s that?’ Boyle pushed his way through the sentries and confronted the convicts through the barricade. ‘Who is it who’s objecting?’

There was a sudden silence, then a voice said, ‘I am.’ A man pushed his way forward. ‘It’s like hell down here. Let ’women come up.’

‘Aye, let them up.’ A chorus of male voices shouted in support.

‘Iron that man and fasten him to his bunk. I’ll have no insubordination.’ Boyle started to climb the companion ladder, but a great shout of anger stopped him. ‘Any trouble’, he hissed, ‘and I’ll confine you all below for the next week.’

The shouting stopped but an agitated murmuring continued until the door was clanged shut and they were left to sweat. Meg picked her way through the mass of women who had stretched out on the planking rather than be confined to their bunks, which they had to share with other sweating bodies.

‘Sorry, lads.’ She peered through the barricade. ‘It was a good try. Who’s ’chap who’s been ironed?’

‘John Johnson,’ the voice shouted. ‘Who are you?’

‘Meg,’ she called back. ‘Thanks anyway.’

Two seamen had also got the fever and after Philip had attended them he went up on deck and was surprised to find that the women were not there. He went below decks and came to the door of their accommodation, where he found three armed guards instead of one and the same at the male convicts’ door. One of the guards barred his way. ‘None of the women are allowed up tonight, sir.’ Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and his lips were dry and cracked.

‘On whose orders?’

‘Lieutenant Boyle’s, sir. They’re to stay below until the morning. That’s all of ’em, sir,’ he added meaningfully. He was the guard who had first escorted Emily to Philip’s cabin. ‘It’s hard luck on ’em, sir. There’s a pregnant woman down there, and a couple of old ’uns who might not last the night.’

Philip turned away, seething with anger. Who did Boyle think he was, playing God with people’s lives? These people might be criminals, but they were entitled to some compassion. He made his way back to the sick berth, intent on searching out the surgeon. Clavell alone could oppose Boyle in this matter. But he wasn’t in the sick berth or in his cabin, nor was he in the captain’s cabin when he looked in. He eventually found him on deck curled up at the feet of the helmsman, snoring loudly with a bottle tucked under his arm.

‘You’ll not rouse him tonight, Mr Linton.’ The helmsman kept his eyes straight ahead. ‘He’s gunnels under. Best put him to bed.’

Philip called a midshipman to help him and together they hauled Clavell into his bunk. He opened one eye as Philip tried to take the bottle from him and clung to it with both hands. ‘It’s empty, sir,’ Philip said. ‘Not a drop left.’

‘Hah! Plenty more where that came from,’ Clavell slurred, and peered at Philip. ‘And don’t think you’ll find them, ’cos you won’t.’ His mouth dropped open and he snored with abandon.

‘It’s my decision, Linton,’ Boyle said lazily when Philip questioned him about the women being kept below. ‘You haven’t the authority and Clavell is as drunk as a lord, so there’s nothing he can do either. They can all come up in the morning. We’ll be crossing the Line at noon and we’ll have a bit of fun with them then, eh?’ He gave a cynical grin. ‘Sorry if I’ve spoiled your love games, Linton, but I’m sure she’ll be all the more eager after being deprived of your company for a night or two.’

Philip turned away. If he assaulted a superior officer, the punishment would be severe. He would lose his position and be stripped of his rank and probably put in irons, but he badly wanted to take the man by the throat and throttle him.

When the prisoners came up the next morning, one of the older women had died and the other was very sick. The pregnant woman had started in labour. ‘Get her into the sick berth,’ Philip ordered one of the guards, ‘and then bring the
sick woman on deck.’ He went to report the death of the woman to Boyle.

‘Another death, Mr Linton?’ Boyle said. ‘It’s not going to look very good for your reputation, is it?’

‘The reason why will be logged, Mr Boyle,’ Philip replied sharply. ‘She probably died because of lack of air.’

Boyle sneered. ‘But you don’t know that, do you? You’re not a medical man! Which makes me wonder just why you are here, serving as a surgeon’s mate? The sort of job that any apothecary’s apprentice could do! Blotted your copybook somewhere?’

Before Philip could reply they were called away by the shrill pipe of the bosun’s whistle. ‘Approaching the Line, sir,’ the bosun’s mate hailed.

All hands on deck, called the pipes.

‘Heave to,’ Boyle commanded. ‘Away aloft. Bring her up, but gently.’

The helmsmen steadied the course and the seamen and officers met each command instantly. The sails were trimmed and the great ship was brought up with her head to the wind, where she rode gently in the blue green waters, like the swan whose name she had been given.

King Neptune came on board. He appeared from the lower deck with seaweed in his hair and beard, a tinsel crown on his head and a wooden trident in his hand. By his side were mermen, their seamen’s clothes draped in weeds and clutching the laughing young midshipmen who had not yet crossed the equator. The convicts gathered around prepared for the fun. A tot of rum was handed round to everyone, seamen and convicts alike.

‘Have they taken that fella Johnson out of his irons?’ Meg asked one of the guards. ‘Is he on deck?’

‘Aye.’ He nodded and pointed to a fair, bearded man standing at the edge of the crowd. ‘We’ve to keep an eye on him. Boyle’s got him marked down as a troublemaker.’

‘Who?’ Emily asked. ‘Is he the one who argued with Boyle?’ She wiped her face with her sleeve. There was no respite from the heat. Many of the women were ignoring the ceremony and were hanging over the bulwarks trying to catch a breeze. Some of them were blistering from the sun.

Meg nodded, then laughed as Neptune’s
mermen lathered a young officer with soap and tar and feathers and handed him to Neptune, who shaved him with a large wooden razor, cut his hair and dunked him into a tub of seawater. Boyle handed Neptune and the officer a tot of rum. ‘Next,’ he cried and gathered up another young midshipman, for whom the same procedure followed, then came other seamen and officers who hadn’t crossed the Line before and again tots of rum were handed over.

‘Now the prisoners,’ Boyle called. ‘We’ll have to have volunteers, there isn’t time for all of you. You,’ he pointed to one convict, ‘and you,’ he pointed to John Johnson. ‘Only this time, your Majesty,’ he addressed Neptune, ‘we’ll have it done properly. Over the side!’

The two convicts looked at each other and so did some of the seamen. ‘The man’s a sadist,’ Emily heard one of the guards say.

The two men were lathered with tar and soap over their heads and neck, the tar was sticky with the heat and they put their heads down to keep it from their eyes. ‘Fetch the rope,’ Boyle grinned and Neptune objected. ‘It’s not safe, sir.’

‘Perfectly safe,’ Boyle said as he hitched the rope over Johnson’s shoulders and around his waist. Johnson started to struggle. ‘Keep still,’ Boyle said, ‘or I might forget to pull you up.’

He ordered two seamen to stand him on the bulwark and another two to hold the rope and with a great shove he pushed him overboard. Everyone leaned over to watch as Johnson rose up spluttering and cursing. There was some laughter but not
much, as he was hauled aboard. ‘And again,’ Boyle called, ‘three times is the norm.’

Johnson struggled. ‘I’ll kill you, you bastard,’ he shouted.

‘Or sometimes it’s six,’ Boyle answered cheerfully.

‘Stop it!’ Meg hurled herself at the officer. ‘Stop it! What gives you the right to do this?’

Boyle held her at arm’s length and a guard rushed over with his rifle at the ready. ‘I have the right to do what ever I want with you scum,’ he snarled. ‘Bring him aboard,’ he ordered the seamen who were holding Johnson. ‘We’ll have the little lady instead.’

Meg lashed out and the women screamed and the men shouted, but the guards had their orders and Meg was held with her arms behind her back and marched towards Neptune, who though almost drunk, was sobering very quickly. ‘I don’t usually perform on the women, sir.’

‘Well if you won’t, I will.’ Boyle rolled up his coat sleeves and pulled Meg roughly towards him and the tub of tar.

Emily stood horrified as she watched Meg’s hair and face being tarred and then feathered with seagull feathers, but she swore and lashed out with hands and feet as Boyle struggled to hold her. ‘No,’ Emily shouted and the other convicts joined in the cry. ‘Stop, stop,’ and she hurled herself towards Boyle, beating him with her fists.

‘Stop!’ Johnson broke free from the seamen and he too tore towards Boyle with his fists flying.

Philip had watched the ceremony of the
midshipmen and then hurried back to the sick berth. The pregnant woman was in a lot of pain and he didn’t know what to do. He had never witnessed childbirth, he didn’t know anything about it and wasn’t keen to find out. He only knew that the woman was frail and sick and he questioned her as to when she might expect the child. ‘I was six months’ gone when I came on board, sir,’ she said. ‘So it could be any time. It’s my third. I know what happens.’

‘I’m glad you do’, he said, ‘because I don’t. Will you be all right whilst I go and fetch the surgeon?’

He hurried away and prayed that Clavell was sober and heard the shouts coming from the upper deck. I’m missing all the fun, he thought, but perhaps it’s just as well as I haven’t crossed the Line.

He managed to rouse Clavell and poured him a glass of water, which he spat out. ‘Don’t ever give me that again, Mr Linton,’ he objected. ‘Pour me a tot of rum and I’ll be as right as ninepence.’

He drank it straight down and stood up. ‘There, what did I tell you?’ He looked around with bleary eyes. ‘Are we at anchor or am I less drunk than I thought I was?’

‘We’re crossing the Line, sir. The ceremony has started.’

‘Hmph, well I’ve seen that nonsense often enough without wanting to see it again. Come on, take me to the mother to be.’

He pronounced her all right for the next few hours and said that she could have one of the other women convicts to attend her. ‘One who knows
about these things,’ he said briskly. ‘I don’t want anybody fainting in my sick berth. And that goes for you as well, Mr Linton. You’d better keep well out of the way.’

‘I’ll be glad to,’ Philip began, when a midshipman dashed into the sick berth without knocking.

Clavell looked annoyed, but the young officer apologized. ‘I believe, sir, that it’s naval regulations that the surgeon should witness a lashing?’ His face was red and sweaty and he looked nervous. ‘I hope I’m doing right, sir?’

‘A lashing? Who’s being lashed and why?’

‘One of the convicts, sir, for assaulting Mr Boyle, and I think maybe one of the women.’

‘What?’ Clavell’s face turned purple. ‘Women are not to be lashed! Whose order is this?’

The officer licked his lips. ‘Mr Boyle’s, sir.’

‘Is it, by God?’ Clavell snatched his coat from the chair. ‘We’ll see about that.’

When they reached the upper deck, Johnson was already tied to a grating by the wrists with his arms above his head and his ankles ironed. Philip was appalled to see Meg fastened up also and mouthing abuse at Boyle, and Emily being held by two guards. He stepped forward, but Clavell stopped him. ‘This is my business, Mr Linton. Leave it to me.’

He confronted Boyle. ‘I’m here to attend the lashing. What is the man’s punishment?’

‘Twenty lashes.’ Boyle’s voice was surly. ‘Less than the regulation permits.’

‘Why is the woman tied? She is not to be lashed?’

‘Assault and insubordination! She’s to be given five strokes.’

‘I think not, Mr Boyle,’ said Clavell. ‘The flogging of women ceased some time ago.’

‘The charge is serious. These women have to be shown that they cannot behave as they wish.’ He glared at Clavell. ‘I am the most senior officer here whilst the captain is sick and I say the woman is to be flogged. You may watch to ensure that she does not suffer unduly.’

As Philip listened, he knew that Boyle was within his rights as the ship’s master. He could decide on the punishment for an offence. Clavell could only supervise the lashing to ensure that the prisoners did not die of their injuries.

The lash was held by the bosun and the prisoners were ordered into a semi-circle in order to watch. ‘Leave the woman alone,’ Johnson shouted. ‘I’ll tek her lashes.’

‘How very noble.’ Boyle grinned. ‘Begin!’

The lash spat and then spat again until ten strokes had been given. ‘Stop,’ Boyle shouted. ‘Mr Clavell, perhaps you would like to examine the prisoner?’

Clavell stepped forward. Ten weals criss-crossed Johnson’s back but the skin hadn’t broken. He stepped back and nodded for the punishment to continue, but Boyle put up his hand and called for a bucket of sea water. He took it from the seaman and threw it over Johnson. They heard him gasp as the salt licked his back and saw his hands clench.

‘Swine!’ Meg shouted. ‘You’re enjoying this.’

Boyle said nothing, but indicated that the
flogging should continue. Five more lashings and the convict’s fair skin started to bleed. Clavell stepped forward to examine the wounds. ‘I think that’s enough, Mr Boyle.’