by Jody Hedlund
“I’ll be fine, Polly,” he finally managed. “Don’t worry about me.”
She nodded once. “I’ll have my father dispatch a message to Captain Newton at once.”
He nodded in return. Then she turned and crossed briskly to Eliza. Without a backward glance, she linked arms with her sister and together they descended the stairs and were gone. He stared at the spot where she’d stood and tried to picture her again. He had the awful, gut-wrenching realization that he’d likely said good-bye to her for the last time.
Three more men were added to their prison. But one of them became deathly ill and was removed from their midst, leaving a total of nine. Newton considered whether he might be able to fake an illness for himself as a means of escape. But he had the feeling the navy wouldn’t let him go that easily.
Thankfully, the victualling officer began to deliver food and water to them twice a day. Mr. Catlett also stopped by with provisions, including a coat. Newton wished Polly had come with her father but had the suspicion that Mr. Catlett had forbade her from going anywhere near the gaol. Newton missed her terribly and almost wished she would disobey her father and sneak down to the gaol anyway, even though he himself had told her not to come unchaperoned.
By the third day of captivity, he’d grown as morose as the other prisoners and lost hope that he’d find a way out until an officer opened the door and called his name. The officer bound him in chains before leading him out of the gaol and into the victualling building next door.
He was guided past a first-floor office that likely belonged to the agent victualler in charge of the storehouses, brewery, bakery, and any other facilities on the site and led him to a sparsely furnished room that had only two chairs on either side of a plain table. The whitewashed walls had a few rusty flecks, and Newton hoped they weren’t bloodstains from some other sailor they’d battered.
Newton sat down without urging from the officer and was surprised when the young man exited and closed the door behind him. Newton sized up the room’s only window. It was too high and narrow for him to use as an escape. And even if it had been bigger, Newton wasn’t sure how he’d manage such a feat in his chains.
He suspected they’d brought him to the room to question him about his abilities. But he set his jaw tight, planning to not say a word about his past experiences as a sailor. They could torture him all they wanted, but he wouldn’t admit to anything.
Footsteps clapped hollowly in the hallway and drew nearer, and then the door handle rattled. He ought to arise from his chair in respect for his authorities. But he couldn’t make himself do it. When the door swung open, he stared insolently at his chained hands folded on top of the table. They were lined with grime and blood—his blood.
Someone stepped into the room, and the door closed again. Newton didn’t move to acknowledge the new arrival. Finally, the newcomer released a long sigh, one that could fill a sail with the fullness of its disappointment. At the familiarity of it, Newton’s head jerked up. He found himself looking into his father’s sea-weathered face. The grooves at the corners of his eyes were especially deep, reflecting a sadness that made Newton shift on his chair.
Captain Newton was attired in a gray powdered wig that had side curls. He wore what appeared to be a new suit. At the very least, the breeches and coat were crisp and clean, with ruffles from his shirt-sleeve showing at the edge, advertising his growing wealth.
“Captain,” Newton said, pushing away from the table and rising in deference to his father. “Thank you for coming.” His father was an important man, well respected among both merchant and naval vessels. If anyone could save him from impressment, surely his father could.
“I was working in Deptford when I received the news. I came right away.” His father’s job was very similar to the naval victualler’s, except that he worked outfitting merchant vessels. Newton had no doubt his father was incredibly busy right now in light of the imminent war with France. But he didn’t seem unduly angry that he’d had to travel to Chatham.
Surely now that he was here, he would put things aright, just as he always did. Newton slid back down into his chair before his weak legs gave out. “I figured you could do something—”
“Why are you still here?” His father’s tone turned decidedly clipped and frustrated.
Newton lifted his chained hands. “Does it look like I have a choice?”
His father crossed to the table in two long strides and slammed his palm against the plank so hard that it banged like a gunshot. Newton jumped and was half-surprised the officer didn’t return to the room to see if he’d been shot.
“You know what I mean.” His father’s voice was a low growl. With his palms still on the table, he hunched over Newton and scowled down at him.
So much for his assumption that the captain wasn’t unduly angry. He shouldn’t have expected otherwise. That’s the way things were between them. Never happy. Never easy. Never cordial for very long, if at all.
“You should have been on the Astrea last week.” His father spoke the words through clenched teeth.
“I decided I wasn’t ready to leave.”
“When you returned from your recent voyage and asked me for help, I thought, John’s finally growing up. John’s finally being responsible.” The captain’s voice rose with each sentence. “So I asked for a favor from a friend, found you a good position. And what did you do?” He was practically shouting now. “You threw it away. Again!”
Newton wanted to defend himself, to share his plans to find work close to the Catletts so that he could help them financially as well as continue to make sure Polly was safe, but before he could speak, his father slapped his hands against the table, causing it to slam into Newton’s chest. The force nearly knocked his chair backward.
“You threw it away just like you did the job in Jamaica!” His father yelled.
“I’m sorry—”
“And now look at you!” His father’s appraisal was distressed. “Look at the trouble you’re in as a result of your foolishness.”
“Mayhap I should have gone last week,” Newton admitted. At least then he would have had a certain job. And he could have saved his earnings to send back to the Catletts.
“Mayhap?” Again his father’s voice rose. He backed toward the door as though he’d heard enough.
The movement sent a burst of panic through Newton. He couldn’t let his father leave yet. Not without making some effort to get him out of the impressment. If he had to grovel at his father’s feet to get the help, so be it. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said again. “I know I let you down. It’s just that whenever I’m with Polly I can’t think straight.”
“It isn’t just this woman that’s the problem,” his father replied in a hollow voice. “You’ve always been irresponsible.”
The defeat in his father’s tone and posture pummeled Newton harder than his father’s fists ever could. Apparently, he was an absolute failure in his father’s eyes, in every way. There seemed to be nothing worthwhile and lovable about him anymore, if there ever had been.
An ache squeezed Newton’s throat. “I’ll try to do better, sir.”
The captain nodded, although it was a dismayed half nod that said, I’ll believe it when I see it.
“If you’re able to help me now, I promise I won’t let you down again.” In his deepest heart, he meant it. He wished he could be the kind of man his father wanted. He wished for once he could make his father proud of him instead of always disappointing him.
“I’ve spent the morning talking with First Lieutenant Thomas Ruffin,” his father said.
“Ruffin?”
“He’s in charge of the platoon authorized to impress men for the HMS Harwich.”
Newton nodded in anticipation.
“He’s agreed to recommend you to Captain Carteret.”
“I don’t understand.”
“With your experience, I’ve convinced him to ask the captain to consider you for an appointment to the quarterdec
k as a midshipman.”
“I don’t want an appointment. I want a release.”
“It would be a prestigious award. You’d be a subofficer in training—”
“I could care less if I’m awarded first mate or even captain of the ship itself.”
“You better!” His father’s voice escalated again. “As midshipman, you’ll be in line for promotion to the rank of lieutenant.”
“The only thing I care about,” Newton yelled back, “is staying as far away from that ship as possible.”
“After all I’ve gone through to make these arrangements, you better not ruin it. Not again.” The captain’s eyes glittered with angry warning.
Newton could only stare at his father in complete frustration. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had expected his father to help him out of this predicament. Not enmesh him into it further. Newton shoved the table, and it scraped across the floor. If his hands hadn’t been chained, he would have pounded them into something. “Apparently you don’t care that I’ll be going off to war.”
“Of course I care.” His father’s voice was low and agonized, and he glanced to the door as though anyone could be listening to their conversation. “Do you really think I want my son on a naval vessel, even one as big and new as the Harwich?”
Newton’s angry response fell to the wayside.
“Don’t you think I tried to get you transferred to a merchant ship? Don’t you think I’ve pulled from every favor owed me to get you out of this press?”
“Then why didn’t you?” Newton couldn’t hold back his desperation.
“I’ve bribed, cajoled, and pleaded all morning,” his father whispered hoarsely. “And this is the best I could do for you.”
Newton slumped in his chair.
His father’s broad shoulders sank, and he hung his head as though overcome by weariness and defeat.
Newton knew he should be grateful to his father for his efforts. His father had likely ridden through the night to arrive in Chatham first thing this morning. He’d groveled and pleaded on his behalf. He’d done the best he could to rectify a terrible situation. But his efforts had been for naught, and Newton couldn’t conjure any thankfulness for the possible promotion.
“Rumors say the French army that was assembled at Dunkirk has now boarded ships,” his father offered weakly. “The invasion could happen any day.”
“Mayhap you can try to plead for my release directly with the captain—”
“Don’t you understand, John?” his father shouted. “We’re going to war with France. And the navy won’t grant any favors. Not this time. Not to anyone.”
Newton stared at the chains that bound his wrists. The heavy iron bands were cold and chafed his wrists. He could apparently no more free himself from the impressment than he could from the immovable metal that weighed upon his hands. He was stuck.
“What’s done is done.” His father’s voice was low and resigned. “And now you must serve your king and country with honor.”
Serve with honor? Devil be hanged. After the navy had beaten him senseless, bound him in chains, and then forced him into a position he didn’t want, how could anyone expect him to serve with honor?
Nay, he would not give the navy his best effort. Nay, he would not give them any more than he had to, certainly not his life. He’d only do what he absolutely had to, and the first opportunity he had, he’d find a way to leave.
He stood abruptly, letting his chair tip over backward and clatter to the floor. He didn’t look at his father as he brushed past him and opened the door. The officer standing guard in the hallway outside the room straightened in surprise.
Newton held out his chains. “Aye, then. You can take me back to the gaol.”
The officer glanced toward his father with raised brows. Then with a shrug, the young officer took Newton’s chains and began to lead him down the hallway toward the front door of the Victualling Office building. With every step Newton took, he could feel his father watching him, silently pleading with him to turn around, to understand that he’d done all he could, to recognize the effort he’d made.
Newton stared straight ahead, his gut churning with too much anger and resentment. If he had to go, he’d do it without any more complaints. He’d do it like a man. But he’d be sure his father—and everyone else—knew that he didn’t like or approve of the injustice he’d been dealt.
Polly stood by the iron gate and peered down the road. The March day was warmer than any they’d had of late, which was just as well, since she’d been standing waiting for her father’s appearance for the past hour. The late afternoon sunlight was beginning to fade and tinge the sky and clouds with faint pink. Although the winter wasn’t quite over, the first green of spring was showing in the grass. In the distance she could hear the song of a marsh warbler having returned from the south.
The yap-yap of a dog drew her attention to the neighbor’s yard. Miss Donovan had stepped outside with Prince. At a shout from inside the house, the young woman hurried after her dog and shushed him, her lean face wreathed in anxiety.
While Prince hadn’t had any further runaway escapades, Polly had noticed that Miss Donovan hovered closer to the dog whenever he was outside. In fact, Prince never came out without Miss Donovan following it wherever it went.
Prince yapped again, and Miss Donovan bent and picked up the little dog, holding him like an infant and talking to him in a low affectionate tone that Polly couldn’t help but hear. She placed a tender kiss on his curly white head.
At that moment Miss Donovan happened to glance up and catch Polly staring. Polly quickly returned her attention to the road and prayed she hadn’t offended the woman with her staring.
For a long moment the neighbors’ yard was silent, and Polly began to think Miss Donovan had gone inside. But then the woman spoke. “I didn’t have the chance to express my gratitude to you for finding Prince.” Eliza had been the one to take the dog to Miss Donovan since Polly had been too distraught.
“I’m happy that you have him back.” Polly squirmed in embarrassment. Had Miss Donovan learned of the circumstances under which she’d found Prince and her father’s resulting demotion? Was that why she was thanking her?
Miss Donovan ducked her head. “When you next see your young sailor, I’d be obliged if you’d thank him as well.”
“Of course.” Polly could feel herself flushing at Miss Donovan’s insinuation that John was her sailor. Had she heard John was impressed too?
Miss Donovan made a move to turn and retreat but hesitated. “I’m sorry for your troubles and the impressment.”
Polly nodded. Before she could think of a polite response, Miss Donovan was making her way back to the house. Apparently everyone in Chatham knew about her father’s fall from favor and John’s impressment.
It was several days since Polly heard that nine pressed men were rowed out in a tender to the HMS Harwich and that John was among them. Just yesterday, her father came home with word that Prince Charles was about to board the French ships that would bring him to England for an invasion when a fierce storm blew through the channel and stopped him. The storm had apparently grown so wild that it dispersed the French fleet anchored there. It seemed that many French ships had been damaged and that the invasion plans had been abandoned.
Surely today her father would know more about the situation. Surely he would bring her word that John would be set free. Without an attack, what need did the navy have of so many sailors? Maybe by this time tomorrow she’d see John again. He’d be waiting for her in the drawing room and sneak up behind her the way he did once before.
At the clomp of distant hooves and the sight of a horse and rider, Polly smiled and opened the gate. Finally, her father was coming. She began walking toward him and was rewarded with his tender smile and a wave of his hand.
“To what occasion do I deserve the honor of your sweet greeting this evening?” Father asked, reining his horse and sliding down. He drew her into a brief embrace.
His tall body was lean, almost gangly, but he exuded a strength and solidness that always made her feel safe.
She pulled back and tucked her slender hand into his large one, just as she’d done when she was a little girl. “I was eager to see you,” she started, overcome with embarrassment at the thought of broaching the subject of John with him. She walked for a moment in silence, swinging her hand in his as he led the horse with the other.
“And…” Father said. He was too perceptive. No doubt he could guess there was more eagerness to her this evening than his arrival home could warrant.
“I was hoping you’d have more information on what’s become of the impressed sailors?” she said, focusing on the dirt road in front of her.
Her father didn’t say anything for a moment, which only made her more embarrassed.
“Will they be released, now that we won’t be going to war with France?”
Father walked in silence a few more steps before sighing. “I’m afraid we’ll still see war with France before ere long.”
“But if the French fleet was damaged?”
“They will find a way to fight anyway,” he said quietly, almost bitterly.
The hope that she’d allowed to grow all day began to deflate, taking with it her energy and her enthusiasm. “Why must we wage war? Why must brother pick up arms against brother? Why cannot men resolve to live at peace with one another?”
She knew she was spouting the words Susanna had used with her on occasion when she’d protested violence. Susanna had likely developed such thoughts during her activities with the Quakers, who opposed not only slavery but also warfare. But England had been at odds with France as far back as Henry V, if not longer. It was wishful thinking to expect that an age-old rivalry would end during her lifetime.
Her father sighed wearily. “As long as men continue to harbor hate and greed in their hearts, unfortunately we will continue to have war.”
As they reached the gate in the fence that surrounded the Catlett home, she slowed her steps and Father did too. She turned with her father down the side lane that led to the stable behind the house. “Even so, surely the navy won’t have need for quite so many men.”