Girl on the Orlop Deck (6 page)

‘Still searchin’, I shouldn’t wonder,’ he said. ‘They’ll catch up with us sooner or later. You ain’t afeard being on your own, are yer?’

‘No,’ she said boldly. ‘’Course not. I was just a-wonderin’ where they were.’

The boats went ashore to pick up fruit and water. Captain Hardy inspected the ship. And then there was nothing to do but wait for the Admiral’s return. The forenoon watch passed peacefully, they were piped to dinner, which was a very leisurely meal, and then left to their own devices for the rest of the afternoon watch. The sun was so warm it made the watch on deck lethargic. They basked, smoked their pipes, gossiped, told stories, and waited.

And then, just when Marianne was half asleep, the longboat put out to fetch Lord Nelson back and two British frigates breezed into the harbour. She was very cross. What a useless time for them to arrive, she thought, when the supplies are bought and aboard and the Admiral’s coming back and there’s no reason for anyone to go ashore. If they’d put on more canvas they could’ve been here the same time as us.

‘Stir your stumps, you great lazy lump,’ a midshipman said, as he marched by her, trim in his uniform and full of importance. ‘Haven’t you any work to do?’

It took her an effort to pull her mind round to what he was saying. ‘What?’

‘What?’ he echoed. ‘What d’you mean
what
? What sort of word is
what
? Here’s the Admiral been hard at it since first light and you think you may lollop about the decks doing nothing. Stir your stumps, my sonny, or you’ll know the reason why.’ And he walked on feeling pleased with himself.

Stupid puppy, Marianne thought, glaring at his back. Giving himself airs! If I’d met him on Spice Island afore all this, I’d’ve cut him down to size in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. But there was no time to feed her fantasy because eight bells were sounding and it was the start of the first dog watch and there was work to be done.

It began as soon as the Admiral had been piped aboard. The two frigates sent a boat across with mail for Captain Hardy and the Admiral, and were sent orders by return that they were to guard the straits. Not long afterwards the
Amphion
weighed anchor. Captain Hardy and Admiral Nelson stood on the poop deck to guide their departure and Marianne Templeman busied herself on the deck below and watched them, wondering where they were all off to and how long it would be before they got there.

She got her answer at supper time. ‘Malta,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘On account of we got to meet up with Sir Richard Bickerton’s squadron what’s there a-waitin’ for us, seemingly.’

He was in a good mood so she ventured to ask him how long it would take.

‘As long as it needs, my sonny,’ he said. ‘Our Nelson’s in no partic’lar hurry, d’you see, on account of he wants the
Victory
to catch up with us. We shall have to wait an’ see. Patience is a virtue at sea, so they say.’

In the long days that followed, the
Amphion
made very slow progress through the Mediterranean. It grew hotter by the day, there was very little wind and the coastline they passed was interminably the same, long and brown and silhouetted with odd foreign-looking buildings, brown as the shoreline with bulbous domes that caught the sun and sharp narrow spires that looked like needles.

‘Mosques,’ Johnny said, when Marianne asked him what they were. ‘Where the Musclemen goes to pray.’

Who were the Musclemen?

‘Heathens,’ Johnny said, ‘what you don’t want to have nothin’ to do with. Very nasty there are.’

‘Well I en’t surprised they’re heathens,’ Marianne said. ‘Livin’ out here in all this heat. ’Tis enough to turn anyone heathen.’ The sweat was running down her back and her jacket was sticking to her, as if it had been glued. ‘Is it always as hot as this?’

‘We’re a deal further south than we was, my sonny,’ Johnny told her, ‘an’ ’tis high summer, what’s always hot in these parts. Take yer jacket off if it’s plaguing you.’

But she couldn’t possibly do that, so she shook her head and looked away from him.

He laughed at her, showing his broken teeth. ‘Go on, boy,’ he teased. ‘Don’t be shy. You wouldn’t be the only one.’

Which was true enough, for there were ship’s boys all over the ship scrubbing the decks and climbing the rigging in their shoes and breeches, their bare backs turning brown before her eyes. In fact, as the hot days passed, there were only two others, as far as she could see, who kept their jackets on. And just as well, for she wouldn’t have liked to be the only one.

She took to working as close to the other two as she could, feeling she wouldn’t be quite so noticeable if they were near and, after a week of it, she began to notice things about them, which set her to wondering. The way they walked for a start, and the way they laughed, which was almost a giggle sometimes, and the way they talked to one another, heads close and confidential. And now she came to look at them, the shorter of the two with his blue eyes and his soft fair hair was too pretty to be a boy. What if they was women too? Wouldn’t that be a thing. Not that she could ask them, in case they wasn’t. But she wondered more every time she saw them.

And then one morning, the shorter of the two suddenly spoke to her. ‘Aincher warm?’ he said.

‘Boiled alive.’

The boy gave her a knowing look. ‘Why don’tcher strip off that jacket?’

The question embarrassed her. It was altogether too direct. If they were women it would be all right, but if they weren’t she could be open to teasing or even worse. ‘’Cause I don’t want to,’ she said.

‘On account of you got somethin’ to hide,’ the boy said. ‘That the size of it? Like us maybe. We got things to hide, aint we – Jack?’

The odd emphasis he’d given the name made Marianne sit back on her heels and look at them, the holystone idle on her hands. Now she was almost sure she’d been right.

‘You got somethin’ to hide an’ all ’ave yer – Matt?’ the boy said. ‘Somethin’ under yer jacket maybe. Or a pair a’ somethin’s.’

‘I might have,’ she said. ‘An’ then again I might not.’

The boy called Jack gave her such a wide grin there was no doubt what they were talking about. ‘We knew you was a woman,’ he said. ‘We been watchin’ you fer days. What’s yer real name?’

Now it was possible to confess because she knew it was safe and that they wouldn’t tell. ‘Marianne,’ she said.

‘I’m Peg,’ the boy told her. ‘An’ this here’s Moll. This your first ship?
Use yer stone, the lieutenant’s looking.’

They scrubbed assiduously, their jackets damp with sweat.

‘I thought I was the only one,’ Marianne admitted.

‘No fear a’ that,’ Moll said. ‘There’s lots a’ women in the navy. You’ll see. Only we has ter keep it dark, on account a’ Nelson don’t like women aboard ship except for that Lady Hamilton, what’s a right bad lot if you ask me, great fat lump.’

‘Hush up!’ Peg warned. ‘He’s a-comin’ our way.’

In the next two days they spoke to one another whenever they could. They were all on the same watch so it was easily done and, as the heat increased and tarpaulins were put up to give the livestock some shade, there were corners to hide in. They shared tips on all sorts of things – how to wash themselves without making their shipmates suspicious, how to use the heads without being noticed, the best way to get their clothes clean in sea water.

‘It’s a lark bein’ ship’s boy,’ Moll said, ‘but you has to look slippy with every mortal thing. We’ll show ’ee come next wash day.’

As the breeze inched their ship nearer to Malta, their confidences grew. After a week Marianne confessed that she’d joined the navy to find her husband and told the story of their wedding – leaving out the more intimate details for modesty’s sake – and the peculiar way he’d
disappeared
. Like her, they had no doubt he’d been pressed.

‘Stands ter reason,’ Moll said. ‘He’d never up an’ leave you, not on your weddin’ day. That aint nat’ral. You ask me, they got him so drunk he didn’t know what he was doin’. That’s the sort a dirty trick they plays. We’ve heard that story over an’ over, ain’t we, Peg?’

‘We’ll find him ’atween us,’ Peg said, patting Marianne’s arm. ‘Very next port a’ call we’ll all go ashore and we’ll ask every jack tar we finds. It shouldn’t be that hard, being ship’s carpenter an’ all. Look chearly, my lubber. We’ll find him.’

Their sympathy was so cheering and warming – and womanly. Oh it was good to have friends.

B
Y THE TIME
the ship arrived in the grand harbour at Valetta, the three girls were staunch companions. And, true to their promise, Moll and Peg contrived to get ashore on the same bum boat as their new friend. After they’d showed willing and helped to load the fruit, the three of them asked permission to explore the town together, and went
swaggering
off through the hot streets like the rolling jack tars they were. As Moll said, ‘We ain’t got the whiskers, my hearties, but we got the style.’ They also had the chance to question any sailors they met on the streets and the quayside, but there were very few of them and none was any help. They said they worked in the dockyard and they knew that Sir Richard Bickerton’s squadron had been at sea for more than a month and was expected to meet up with Lord Nelson somewhere off the coast of Italy. But that was all. And there were no other ships of the line in harbour expect their own.

Marianne was cast down. ‘Why don’t they come into harbour same as us?’ she said. ‘They must need supplies, same as we all does. Stands ter reason. So why are they all at sea?’

‘They’re looking fer the Frenchies,’ Peg explained. ‘Can’t fight the beggars if we can’t find ’em. An’ our Lord Nelson’s set his heart on fighting ’em.’

There was a sudden outburst of cheering from further along the street. ‘That’ll be him,’ Moll said. ‘I’ll lay money on’t.’ And she set off at a trot towards the sound leaving Peg and Marianne to follow the swing of her pigtail.

It
was
their hero, riding in a two-horse carriage looking very handsome in his full dress uniform with his medals glittering in the strong sunshine, smiling as the crowds pushed and cheered beside him, waving their hats and kerchiefs and telling one another what a fine good man he
was. The three girls elbowed with the best and managed to get to the front of the crowd as the great Admiral was driven into the sun-blanched courtyard of the Governor’s palace. They were so close they could see every line in his face, the edge of the scar just visible below his hat, that fine full mouth poutingly determined even when he was half smiling.

‘If anyone’s a-goin’ to beat the Frenchies,’ Moll said, ‘he’s the man to do it.’

‘He’s got ter find the beggars first,’ Peg pointed out, ’which ain’t the easiest of things seein’ how slippy they are.’

‘Well I hope he
don
’
t
find ’em till I’ve found my Jem,’ Marianne said. ‘That’s all I can say. I don’t pertick’ly want to be aboard when he’s starts a-fightin’.’

Moll laughed at her. ‘He won’t ask your permission, my lubber,’ she said, as the carriage disappeared into the courtyard. ‘Nor nobody else for that matter. Well that’s that then. We seen him. Now let’s see the sights.’

They explored the town for the rest of their watch, admired the fine lace that was being offered for sale in the fine shops, lusted after the sugar cakes in the baker’s, told the beggars who followed them to ‘sling their hooks’, decided they didn’t think much of the cathedral, which Marianne declared, ‘a gloomy sort a’ place’ and were impressed by the number of carriage folk who were driving about the streets for all the world as if they were members of the London
ton
, with fine horses
high-stepping
before them and footmen standing impassively behind them.

‘They makes money hereabouts,’ Moll observed.

But Marianne wasn’t listening. She was standing in front of a small dark shop gazing through the dusty window panes at the goods on display, the long quill pens and the neat bottles of black ink, the red sticks of sealing wax and the cut paper arranged like a half-open fan. She had one hand resting on the sill but she wasn’t even aware that it was there because her mind was in a turmoil of sudden guilt, remembering her mother and how stricken she’d looked when they said goodbye, and her own passionate, forgotten promise to write to her. And here I’ve been all this time, sailing the high seas and having a fine old time and never giving her a thought, poor Ma.

‘Do ’ee think they’d take coin a’ the realm hereabouts?’ she asked her friends. ‘Bein’ foreigners like?’

‘You could ask ’em,’ Moll said. ‘No harm in tryin’. What sort a’ coin you got?’

Marianne fished in her pocket for the silver thrupenny bit she carried about with her.

‘Is it one a’ them cakes?’ Peg wanted to know. Her mouth was still moist at the memory of them.

Marianne enlightened her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘What I wants is pen an’ ink an’ such, like those in the winder. I promised my ma I’d write to her.’

Her friends were most impressed. ‘My stars!’ Peg said. ‘Can you write then?’

‘Yes,’ Marianne said, ‘I can, an’ I should ha’ done long since onny I forgot all about it. Poor Ma.’

They pushed her into the shop at once. ‘Come you on then,’ Moll said. The sooner the goods were bought, the sooner they could see her at work. It wasn’t every day of the week you could watch someone writing a letter.

But the shopkeeper had no intention of taking their English money, even after he’d bitten the thrupenny bit to make sure it was sound. He spoke to them sternly in his own language and it was clear he meant no.

‘What’s the matter with the fool?’ Marianne said in exasperation when they stepped out into the sunshine again. ‘My money’s as good as the next man’s. Don’t he want a sale?’

‘That’s foreigners for yer,’ Moll said. ‘Blamed fools the lot of ’em. Ain’t got the sense they was born with. I should try the purser if I was you. I bet he’s got pens an’ ink an’ all sorts. The captain’s always a-writing letters. If we gets back sharpish you can ask him afore the end of the watch.’

Which they did, all three of them together.

He gave them his calculating stare. ‘It’ll cost you,’ he said.

Marianne was equal to bargaining. She’d done plenty of that back in Portsmouth. ‘How much?’

A price was agreed and noted in his book to be docked from her pay. Tuppence three-farthings for a pen ‘you’ll need to sharpen it mind’, a small quantity of ink in an ink horn, three sheets of paper ‘good quality is that’, and a stub of sealing wax. She took them down to the gun deck at once and, after settling herself against the nearest cannon, put pen, inkhorn and paper between her legs and stooping forward composed her first letter home.

Then she ran out of inspiration.

‘Ain’t you writ a lot,’ Peg said, admiring the lines of writing. ‘I never know’d such a scholar. Read us what it says.’

But at that moment the bells sounded for the end of the watch so she had to roll up her letter and stow it away in her ditty bag with the rest of her purchases.

‘I’ll add some more another time,’ she said. ‘An’ read it to you then.’

‘Pity you can’t write to that husband a’ yourn,’ Peg remarked, as they parted. ‘You could tell him where you are, an’ then he could find you. He must be missing you somethin’ chronic, poor man, new married an’ all.’

Marianne wasn’t interested in a letter that couldn’t possibly be written. She was wondering how long they would stay in Valetta and hoping it would be a good long time so that the rest of the fleet could catch up with them and she could set about searching in earnest. ‘Our Nelson won’t want to move on yet awhile,’ she said to her friends. ‘Not if he’s a-waiting for the
Victory
.’

But she was wrong. Nelson was in a hurry to be off. He was enervated by the heat and impatient to retake command of the fleet and, as always, he made a rapid decision. He would stay in Valetta for thirty-six hours. Then he would head for Naples. There was precious little wind but they must make shift and do the best they could.

Marianne was annoyed to hear that they were moving on, when she’d hardly had any time at all for searching; after all they could have stayed where they were and waited for the rest of the fleet to catch up with them, but she didn’t mind the lack of a good wind. It was cool under the tarpaulins, and a slow progress meant more time for gossiping with her friends in between setting the sails and gave her a chance to add a few more words to her letter. After a few quiet days in the sun she became philosophical. Valetta had been a disappointment to her, she had to admit, but she knew there would be other harbours and other
opportunities
. Sooner or later she would find her man. It was just a matter of waiting. ‘Patience is a virtue at sea,’ she said to Peg, as they climbed the rigging together to put out more canvas to catch what little wind there was. And she was pleased by her new wisdom and her forbearance.

She enjoyed her passage through the Straits of Messina too. There were so many merchant ships to see, many of them very heavily laden, some smelling of spices, all manned by the strangest looking crews, and
when they were negotiating the narrowest part of the channel, a
collection
of small boats appeared on the eastern shore and rowed out towards them until they were alongside. Within minutes, a horde of extremely dirty boat people were swarming aboard, grinning and nodding and all talking at once, with basketsful of fruit and flowers for sale. Marianne had never seen lemons and oranges so big and, as they were cheap and these traders were happy to take English pennies and ha’pence, she bought a clutch of them. They made juicy eating.

‘This is the life,’ she said, as she and her friends sat in the shade and gorged themselves.

‘It don’t suit Lord Nelson,’ Peg observed. The Admiral was on the poop deck talking to Captain Hardy and frowning at the traders.

‘He looks cross,’ Marianne said, peering round the tarpaulin at him.

‘That’s on account of he don’t know where the Frenchies are,’ Moll told her. ‘Like you an’ that Jem a’ yourn. He’ll have a different face on come the fighting.’

As usual when her shipmates talked of the battle to come, Marianne felt a shrinking in her belly. ‘En’t you afeard?’ she asked.

‘No point being afeard,’ Moll said. ‘Leastways not yet awhile. What’s to come will come they say. I’ll face it when I has to.’

‘An’ if the worst comes to the worst,’ Peg said, ‘we can always jump ship an’ go back to bein’ women again.’ Despite her blue eyes and her pretty face and an intriguing air of vulnerable fragility, she was as shrewd as any man aboard and much tougher than she looked.

Until that moment it hadn’t occurred to Marianne that her gender might protect her. It had been something to change and discard, that was all. Now the thought of reassuming it to avoid a battle swelled into a happy fantasy.

‘I can jest see ’em, a-searchin’ for us,’ she said, ‘an’ askin’ if anyone’s seen us and we standin’ in front of ’em, bold as brass in our skirts and caps sayin’, “What was you a-lookin for? Three ships boys? No we en’t seen three ships boys. Not nowhere about”.’

The other two began to giggle. ‘No we ain’t seen ’em,’ Moll echoed. ‘Oh that’s rich. My stars if it ain’t. I can jest see us a-doin’ that.’

They were enjoying the joke so much they didn’t notice the arrival of Johnny Galley until he was standing right in front of them. ‘En’t you got nothin’ better to do,’ he said, ‘except sit here a-cackling? You sound like a pack a’ silly wenches.’

He was looking straight at Marianne as he spoke and, for the long fraught second as she held his gaze, she was seized by panic, her heart thumping and her breath tight in her throat. He knows, she thought. Oh my dear life, what will he do? Fortunately eight bells were sounding the end of the afternoon watch so he grinned at her and moved on and the moment passed. But after they’d eaten supper and the guns had been tested and she was rolled up in her blanket snug and sleepy in her hammock, the moment came back to trouble her. Her secret was out. What would he do about it? If he told the lieutenant she’d be put off at the next port of call and then what would happen to her? I was as happy as a sand-boy a-sittin’ there eating them oranges, she thought, an’ now ’tis all gone topsy-turvy again. I must make sure I works extremely hard an’ does every mortal thing they tells me to. Then it might right itself again.

The days passed, the ship progressed and nothing was said. Perhaps she’d been imagining things. That was possible. Wasn’t it? In any case there was work to be done and there was no point in worrying about something that might not happen. For the moment it was enough to work and sail and see what sights there were to see. One day they passed a French town which her shipmates said was called Monaco. It looked a calm sort of place out there in the distance and there was no sign of any French ships. But three days later there was considerable excitement when an English fleet appeared on the horizon. The signallers were instantly set to work to relay a message, which they had to flag up twice but which, after a long wait, was eventually answered. They had found Sir Richard Bickerton and his squadron.

To see all those great ships breasting the green waters towards them, all sails set and flags flying, was a moment of unexpected pride to Marianne. I’m part of the British fleet, she thought, what’s a-goin to see off the Frenchies and end the war. And even if it meant being part of a battle, in that sun-dazzled moment she was almost glad of it.

Johnny Galley sidled up beside her. ‘There’s a sight for sore eyes, my lubber,’ he said, squinting at the fleet, ‘what we’ve waited for long enough in all conscience. That there at the forefront’s the
Gibraltar
, what’s Sir Richard’s flagship. Eighty guns she carries an’ as fine as ship as ever sailed the sea. I wouldn’t like to be a Frenchy if she was on my tail. An’ behind her, d’you see, that’s the
Renown
and the
Superb
and the
Belleisle
.’

He was in high good humour and bushy-bearded with information
and, as he seemed to have forgotten his suspicions, she asked him
questions
.

‘Those two little fellers are sloops,’ he told her, ‘what are uncommon useful to have in a fleet. An’ there’s a frigate a-followin’ up to leeward. See her? An’ that there is the
Agincourt
, if I’m any judge.’