The first lieutenant of the Sparrow had presumably been turned out to make room for Hart in this tiny cabin that was more like a cupboard, with a cot, a writing desk, and a chest for the clothes he did not have. It was mercy enough that they had managed to get the wounded off the Georgia before she sank, taking the dead with her. Snatching the ship’s papers from his cabin, he had felt the Georgia settling in the water. No time to think about his own effects when there were still wounded to be got aboard the Sparrow’s boats. It was only now, as a grinning British sailor brought him paper, pen, and a small inkstand, that he remembered the certificate of marriage Captain Bougainville had written for him and Mercy on board the Guerrier. He had kept it in his Bible, and it had gone down with the Georgia.
An unlucky marriage from the start? He would not believe it. But the loss of their marriage lines did not make writing to Mercy any easier, and he decided to write the letter to his mother first. After all, it was much more likely to reach its destination, and then, surely, his mother would get word to Mercy. After all, so far as he knew, his mother, his aunt Mayfield, and his cousin Abigail were still living very comfortably in the Savannah house on Mercy’s earnings. It was entirely thanks to her that they had survived the rigours of the British occupation as well as they had. She had turned the Purchis house in Oglethorpe Square into a kind of club and gaming house for British officers and made a resounding success of it. He smiled wryly to himself, remembering his own savage jealousy when he had come home, secretly, a spy, and seen Mercy flirting with the British officers. And then the astonishing discovery that she, too, had been a spy, egging on her admirers to indiscretions which she had used to good effect in the pamphlets she published in her other, secret identity as the Rebel Pamphleteer.
Lucky for him – he lifted the pen and put it down again – very lucky, that the British had kept the truth about Mercy as quiet as they could after he himself had accidentally led them to discover her. It had not at all suited their book to have been so roundly fooled by a mere girl. In the one letter he had had from his mother, in answer to his announcement of his marriage to Mercy, Mrs. Purchis had said nothing about the Rebel Pamphleteer, unless a glancing remark about how kind the British had been was intended as a reference to the illicit printing press they had discovered concealed in the cellar at Oglethorpe Square. The British had apparently not penalised the household for this. She, her sister Mayfield, and Abigail Purchis were still running the club, she had told him: ‘We do very well.’
She had not mentioned Mercy’s emeralds, either, which he knew she and her sister had pawned to meet their expenses, and her comments on his marriage had seemed curiously lukewarm, considering what a tower of strength and comfort Mercy had been to them all. Well, of course, Aunt Mayfield would inevitably be mourning her son Francis, and whatever version of his death had been current in Savannah, it was certainly not the true one. It would have suited neither British nor Americans to have it be known just what a double or even triple game Francis had been playing, with the Purchis inheritance as the stake.
He picked up the pen again and dipped it in the ink. Francis had lost. Francis was dead, and Winchelsea, the plantation house he had coveted, was burnt. ‘We’ll be back, Hart, you and I,’ Mercy had said, that last day, standing under the ruined Judas tree by her father’s grave. Would they ever? He sighed and began to write slowly:
My dear Mother:
This is to tell you that the Georgia is sunk, half her men dead, the rest and I prisoners on board HMS Sparrow. By a most amazing chance, her captain proves to be an English cousin of ours – he spells it Purchas.
(Captain Purchas would read this letter. It was his duty, though he had been too polite to say so.)
You see how fortunate, all things considered, I have been.
(The words came more easily now.)
And I hope you will not mind too much that we are bound for England. You know I have always wished to go there, and my cousin Purchas hopes to be able to save me from imprisonment. So you must not fret about me, dear madam, but take care of yourself, and if you will, write to Mercy and tell her that I am unhurt and as always her loving husband. I am writing to her too, to Farnham, but my cousin Purchas is less sure of the letter’s reaching her. I hope that you have had good news of her from the Pastons and that all goes well with you all.
He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a midshipman who looked all of twelve years old announced that Cap’n Purchas wished to see him urgently.
What now? A ship already or some new disaster?
‘There’s trouble among your crew.’ Captain Purchas had been gazing out the stern windows at a blazing sunset that reminded Hart: horribly of the morning’s battle. ‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Trouble?’ Was there no end to it?
‘Yes. My bosun had to intervene to save a boy’s life. A black boy.’
‘Bill!’ Hart exclaimed. ‘Hardly a boy. I thought him dead. I swear he was missing when we abandoned ship. But that’s good news. He’s an old friend,’ he explained. ‘His family have worked for us forever.’ And then: ‘But who attacked him?’
‘Some of your crew. They said he’d robbed your cabin. He had your Bible when one of our boats picked him out of the water. He asks to see you. Urgently. I rather think there’s more to it. I’m afraid I must ask to be present.’
‘Yes. Naturally.’ His Bible. Bill. Bill, who had insisted on looking after his things, who must have known the precious document the Bible contained. When he himself had forgotten it, Bill had risked his life to save it for him and had nearly been killed for his pains.
Brought into the captain’s cabin under guard, Bill was still in his wet clothes and bleeding freely from a wound on the head and another on his right arm. He was grey with exhaustion, his teeth chattering with cold, and he was clutching Hart’s Bible in his left hand. ‘Thank God you’re safe, sir,’ he said as Captain Purchas dismissed the guard. He held out the Bible. ‘I knew you’d want this. I just wish I could have brought your things too.’
‘You risked your life for it. Thank you, Bill.’ Hart took the Bible and undid the stiff clasp. Bougainville’s precious paper was still there, but the water had got at it. It was an illegible smear, only the heading ‘On Board the Guerrier’ still legible.
‘Something important?’ Captain Purchas had recognised the moment of tense disappointment.
‘Our marriage lines,’ Hart told him. ‘What made the others think it was theft, Bill? Surely they know you better than that?’
Bill looked anxiously from one captain to the other, and Hart began to understand that misleading description of him as a ‘boy’. He had always been slightly built, but he now looked almost frail, a very far cry from the brave ally who had helped save Mercy’s life when Francis had nearly captured her. What in the world was the matter with him? ‘What is it, man?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Speak up. Why did they turn on you?’
‘You should know, Captain,’ said Bill bitterly. ‘If they called Mrs. Purchis a Jonah, what do you think they call me, the only black on the ship?’
‘A Jonah? Mercy? Impossible!’
‘I wish it had been. You should have left her at Philadelphia, like she asked, Captain. They didn’t like that long haul north and no prizes. A lot of talk there was, bad talk.’
‘You should have told me.’
‘On that little ship, with ears everywhere? It would have sealed our death warrants. I hoped things would get better after Mrs. Purchis was safe onshore. If only we’d taken a prize then …’
‘I know.’ Hart was acutely aware of the English captain, silent, listening …
‘They turned against me then.’ It was a relief to Bill to tell it all at last. ‘A black. Sharing their quarters. Treated the same as them. They didn’t like it. Made a great deal of my looking after you like I did, sir. Said it was the right job for a slave. Said a lot of things I don’t reckon to tell you.’
‘It’s a curious thing,’ said
the English captain quietly, ‘but I thought that Declaration of Independence of yours said something about equality.’
‘Tell that to one of us blacks,’ said Bill. ‘If your men hadn’t intervened, Captain, and I’m grateful, I’d be a dead equal. So I’m going to tell you both something I think you need to know.’ He turned back to face Hart. ‘It was no accident you weren’t told first thing when we sighted the Sparrow, Mr. Hart. Half the crew wanted to be taken, to change their coats, and the other half were as wild a set of death or glory boys as you could wish for. So … between them …’
‘Now I understand,’ interposed the Englishman. ‘That’s why you chose to fight against such overwhelming odds, Cousin.’
‘Too late to do anything else,’ said Hart grimly. ‘I wish you joy of your prisoners, Cousin Purchas.’
‘Oh, we’ll sort them out all right.’ The Englishman turned back to Bill. ‘Don’t look so troubled, man. I’m not going to ask you which are which. I don’t need to. They’ll be taught soon enough what life is like on a king’s ship. The question is, what are we going to do about you?’
‘Let me serve Captain Purchis, sir. I’d like to do that. He’s – family to me.’
‘An excellent idea.’ He shouted an order, and a little, wizened, grey-haired sailor came bounding into the cabin as if he owned it.
‘You wanted me, Capting?’
‘Yes, Smithers. This young man will be looking after Captain Purchis. Meet my man Smithers, Mr.—’ He turned questioningly to Bill.
‘Just Bill,’ he said. ‘We don’t have no other names.’
‘You do on my ship.’ He looked at Hart. ‘We can’t have another Purchis, however you spell it.’
‘No.’ Hart recognised the reference to slaves who were named after the ship’s captain who had brought them from Africa. ‘But how about Winchelsea? That’s the name of our plantation,’ he explained to his cousin. ‘Would you mind being Bill Winchelsea?’ he asked.
‘I’d be right down proud, sir.’ Bill saw that Smithers was holding out a brown, clean hand, looked surprised, but took and shook it warmly. ‘How do you do, Mr. Smithers.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Winchelsea,’ said Smithers. ‘Now come along of me, and I’ll show you where we doss down.’
‘And let him help you look out some of my clothes for Captain Purchis,’ said the Englishman. ‘And for himself. We’ve enough sick already without a couple of deaths of cold on our hands.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Turning suddenly nautical, Smithers sketched a crisp salute and departed, taking Bill with him.
‘Well?’ said the Englishman.
‘I’m ashamed,’ said Hart. ‘As you say, we talk of equality, and look at us! And calling my wife a Jonah, too!’ This had hit him hard. ‘A heroine like her.’ But he must not go into that. ‘Thank God there’s no chance that wicked slander got to shore with her. I’d not have liked her to start life in New England with a nickname like that tied to her. As for my crew, Captain Purchas, they’re all yours, and welcome to them. Just don’t trust them, the way I did.’
‘Oh, we’ll teach them new ways of thinking on the Sparrow,’ said Purchas cheerfully. ‘Tell me, Cousin, what’s your first name? We can’t go on Purchas-Purchising each other all the way to England. I’m Richard, mainly known as Dick. And you?’
‘Hart.’
‘Unusual. Just with an a, I take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘That certainly settles the question of our relationship. That and the name of your plantation. The member of our family who misspelled his name and moved to the other end of Sussex took a friend from Harting with him. A George Hart and his family. I suppose an intermarriage was bound to happen.’ He held out his hand. ‘Welcome again to the Sparrow, cousin.’
‘You’re from Sussex too?’ Hart returned the firm pressure.
‘Yes. My home’s in West Sussex. Denton Hall, not far from Petworth. You shall make us a long visit there when we reach England; meet my father, who sits for the Whigs – the opposition interest in Parliament – my older brother George, and my tearaway of a sister Julia. And remember, if you can, that you’re a married man.’
‘I shall remember.’ But was he? ‘I look forward to meeting your family, Cousin Richard. It was a lucky day for me when I fell into your hands.’
‘Maybe luckier than you know,’ said Purchas. ‘I wonder what your life would have been worth if you had sailed much longer with that disaffected crew of yours and no prizes.’
‘So do I,’ said Hart.
If writing to his mother had been difficult, writing to Mercy was almost impossible. It would have been hard enough anyway, after the fiasco of their marriage, but to have to do so with the knowledge that his newfound cousin must read every word he said … He was still struggling with the stilted phrases when they sighted a British sloop, inward bound to New York, and he was forced to a hurried, loving, almost incoherent conclusion. And then, while Smithers, who had come for the letters, concealed his impatience, he added a postscript:
God knows who will read this besides you and me, my dearest Mercy. And God keep you. Your loving husband.
‘Thank you sir.’ Smithers took the open letters. ‘The captain said to tell you he’ll see they’re sealed all right and tight and safe away.’
‘Thank you, Smithers. And please give Captain Purchas my best thanks.’
‘He’s a right one,’ said Smithers. ‘For a man out of luck, sir, I reckon you coulda done a whole lot worse.’
‘I know it.’ His view was confirmed when Dick Purchas took him on a tour of the Sparrow next day and he recognised it at once for a happy ship, in painful contrast with his own Georgia. Where had he gone wrong? How had he lost the confidence of the crew who had once been devoted to him? It has to be something to do with Mercy and their unlucky marriage. A Jonah, they had called her. Well, no use trying to pretend that she had been lucky for him.
It was disconcerting, too, to see Georgians who had already turned their coats very neat and smart in the blue cloth trousers and flannel frocks that had been issued to them from the Sparrow’s slop chest, learning their duties as members of the enemy’s crew. Some of them saluted him, awkwardly, unhappily; others looked away, pretending not to see him. ‘They’re settling down well enough,’ Captain Purchas told him, later, over a glass of wine. ‘But bless me, Cousin, what kind of discipline do you keep in your navy? They seem to think they have a right to discuss every order. I’m afraid, much though I dislike it, we’ll have to take the cat to one or two of them pretty soon, as an example to the rest. I can’t have the infection of their free-and-easy ways spreading to my crew. I’d heard about your militia going home from the scene of battle when their time was up, but I had no idea such independent habits spread to your ships too. You’ll never beat us without some discipline, Cousin Hart.’
Impossible not to be grateful for the impartial tone in which this was said, but difficult also to answer. ‘When it works,’ said Hart. ‘It works to a marvel. You must have heard of the exploits of our John Paul Jones.’
‘An amazing man,’ agreed Dick Purchas. ‘But a wild one, Cousin. More a pirate than a privateer, if you ask me. His kind may win laurels, but they don’t win wars. It’s the day-to-day grind of duty done and orders obeyed that does that.’
‘You may be right,’ said Hart thoughtfully. ‘You may well be right, Cousin. And if so, God help my countrymen.’
‘Oh, well.’ Dick Purchas laughed and poured more wine to break the sudden tension. ‘God may or may not help you Americans, but your allies the French and the Spanish most certainly are. I have every hope, entirely between ourselves, that we shall get to England to find Parliament talking seriously of peace. The last letters I had spoke of a possible intervention by the Empress of Russia. And my father was in high hopes that Lord North’s government would fall at last and be replaced by Fox and the friends of peace. Who knows? Maybe you will be the lucky man who takes the good news back to your country.’
‘A privateer captain, and an unlucky one at that? I’m grateful for your comfort, Cousin, but I’m not quite a fool yet. If you can really contrive to keep me out of prison, I’ll be most grateful, but that’s the height of my hopes.’
‘Then let us hope you will be pleasantly surprised.’
IV
Six members of the Georgia’s crew died of their wounds, and three were flogged for disobedience, but otherwise the voyage to England was swift and uneventful, with friendly westerlies behind the Sparrow most of the way. Twice a week Hart and his newfound cousin visited the members of the Georgia’s crew who had refused to serve the British in their dark confinement on the orlop deck. And every time they did so, Hart would find one or two more missing and know that they had joined their friends in freedom abovedecks. And more and more he was aware of the ugly looks of the men who still held out and who must have felt, with justice, that his lot was shamefully light compared with theirs.
He always returned from these visits in a black mood, which Dick Purchas learned to respect. Shut in his tiny cabin, he would go over and over the whole disaster of the last winter, trying to decide whose fault it all was. His own? Mercy’s? The men’s? After all, if they had only told him about the Sparrow sooner, he would have been able to show her a clean pair of heels, without dishonour and without pursuit, as his cousin Dick had told him.
All past, all over with, all irretrievably done. Blame was for the past. He must think of the future, his own and that of the few of his men who still remained immured belowdecks. He had never seriously hoped for rescue, and as day followed uneventful day, he was glad of it. Better not to hope than to hope and court disappointment. And besides, as he got to know the officers of the Sparrow, he found it increasingly difficult to think of them as the ‘enemy.’ Most of them were Whigs like their captain and would clearly much rather fight Frenchmen or Spaniards than Americans. They spoke with comforting respect of the rebels’ successes in the five years of war and then apologised for calling them rebels.
Wide is the Water Page 5