By Fickle Winds Blown

by Maryk Lewis

would know what to teach. After that they talked of their lives, and of their hopes for the new land they were going to.

  Sarah and Jess learned that the Inksters, Gilbert and Barbara, had decided to emigrate for the sake of their children, the two they had already, little Laurence, and the still younger Philadelphia, called Phyllis for short, and the other children they had hoped to have in the future. Sadly, much of those hopes had died with Barbara Inkster, when their great journey had hardly started.

  “It will still be a better life than I could make for the children on our poor crowded little islands,” Gil Inkster declared.

  By the time Mr Smithers returned, the Gordons and the Inksters were well on the way to becoming friends. Wee Phyllis had gone to sleep in Sarah’s arms, relaxed for the first time in days. Laurie had decided that he liked Jess, and was leaning on her knees seriously telling her that he knew all about boats, and would see that they all got to New Zealand safely.

  “I’ll take you down to see Captain Hedley,” Smithers announced. “He’s just back from seeing the owners, and you might be the answer to some of our problems, if you’re prepared to work.”

  Night had fallen in the meantime, and it was dark between the buildings. The only light came from lanterns suspended in the rigging fore and aft, and spilling from portholes in the deck housing. Dull glints reflected from the turgid water in the dock.

  On duty at the gangway was a lad they had not seen before. He touched his cap to Mr Smithers as they went on board. A scruffy, wiry fellow, he smiled at the sisters, and winked at Laurence striding confidently down the slippery plank.

  Over a combing, a raised lip to keep the water out, they stepped on to the top of a stairwell leading to a companionway half sunk below the level of the deck. Mr Smithers knocked on a door to starboard, the right-hand side of the ship looking forward.

  “Come in,” a deep voice called.

  Mr Smithers ushered them into a warm, and brightly lit cabin. A short, grey-bearded man rose from behind a table to one side, the surface littered with charts and stacks of papers.

  “Our schoolmaster, then,” he greeted them with bluff heartiness. “I’m very sorry to hear about your wife.”

  The Dispatching Official introduced the rest of them, and Gil explained that Sarah would now be his assistant, if the captain agreed.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll have made a sound choice,” Captain Hedley nodded. “For now, though, Mr Smithers and I have another proposition which might interest you. The influenza has robbed us of both our purser, and our sub-matron. The owners are seeking replacements for us before sailing time, but their work still has to be done before then, or our departure will be delayed. How would you, Mr Inkster, care to sign on for three days as acting purser, and you Miss Gordon, be our sub-matron for that time. It’ll be hard work, and you’ll be very busy.”

  Both were quick to accept, and grateful for the opportunity, particularly as it meant they could stay on board. Jess and the two little ones, being dependents, would be able to share their accommodation, the purser’s cabin for the Inksters, and the empty hospital flat for the Gordons. The steerage accommodation for the passengers had not yet been prepared.

  Articles to sign had already been drawn up, even for only three days in harbour. There were laws which governed all work on ships, and they had to be obeyed. Gil and Sarah read them through quickly, and appended their signatures on two different sheets each, one of which they were given to keep.

  A shout brought Second Officer MacGovern from a cabin further down the companionway. He smiled when he learned they were to stay aboard, and happily led them away to show them to their quarters, the Inksters to a cubby-hole off the great cabin at the rear of the deck-housing, and the Gordons to a large echoing chamber under the poop deck right at the after end of the ship. He hung his kerosene lantern on a bracket to give them some light.

  “A lad will bring your baggage shortly,” MacGovern said. “This will all be boarded in, and bunks made up over the next couple of days, but in the meantime those bales are the hospital blankets, and there’s some pipe cots you can put together to sleep on.”

  “I’m sure we’ll manage,” Sarah answered, anxious not to be thought a helpless female. “Thank you, Mr MacGovern.”

  “You can call me Ken, if you like,” he suggested, “but, please, not in front of the crew, and especially not in front of the captain.”

  “Strict is he?”

  “Very, but that isn’t a fault in a captain. He’s a good man really. We all respect him very much. If there’s anything else I can do for you...”

  “No, we’ll be fine.” Sarah gave him a warm smile, and not being able to think of anything else which would delay his departure, he left them to it.

  In the dim light of the lantern, they soon puzzled out how to fit the canvas over the pipes that made up the cots, and then slot the contraptions into the bulkheads. There were no mattresses, but there were plenty of blankets they could fold to lie on. While they were busy, they heard a tapping on the bulkhead, and a voice called for permission to enter with their luggage. It was the lad they had seen at the gangway. He was heavily burdened with all their luggage.

  “Hello,” he greeted them. “I’m Andy, Andrew Davison. I’ve done this voyage before.”

  “Have you now?” Sarah looked on him with amusement, as he dumped her kitbag at her feet, and placed the cabin bag beside it. She was used to young fellows trying to make an impression on her. This one was younger than ever, but full of cheek. She knew what he had done. He had made two trips with the luggage as far as the entrance to the hospital flat, and then brought in both pieces at once, so that they could admire how strong he was.

  Jess was impressed, but then she had a lot to learn about boys.

  “I’m Jessica,” she said. “We’re going to Lyttelton. It’s in the South Island.”

  “Yes, I know,” he nodded importantly. “I’ve been there. Can I help you ladies with anything?”

  “Can we get anything to eat?” Jess asked. “Mr Inkster’s poor little mites have had no supper.”

  “And nor have you, rumble-tummy,” her sister teased.

  “The cook’s not aboard yet,” Andy looked crestfallen. “I could ask the Bo’s’n if there’s anything. We’ve all been eating ashore so far.”

  “If we knew where to go...” Sarah began.

  “Oh, you couldn’t go there at night, not in these streets. It wouldn’t be proper,” Andy protested. “I’ll ask the Bo’s’n. He knows everything.”

  He rushed away, and Sarah looked after him with a wry grin.

  “You’ve got another admirer,” Jess observed. “I wish some of them would look at me.”

  “Your time’s coming, little sister,” Sarah said. “You’ll have your share of them.”

  Shortly there was a knock at the entrance again, and when they answered, the boatswain himself came in.

  “Hungry, ladies?” he asked. “If you’ve any money, there’s pies, two for a farthing, at an inn up the town.”

  “We’ve four pence,” Sarah said. “We’ll spend tuppence of it. That should give us enough to share with the Inksters, and perhaps one for the lad.”

  “Oh, he won’t be going,” the boatswain told them. “It’s no place for young Andrew. No, I’ll fetch them myself. There’s a few comforts for the voyage I want to purchase anyway. I’ll not be long.”

  Perhaps we should have something,” Sarah wondered. “What would you recommend for our last tuppence?”

  “Little packets of toffees,” the boatswain suggested, “and some bright wrapping paper. You might find you need something to give away for birthday presents during the voyage.”

  “Well, that’s the last of our money,” Jess observed, after he had gone. “Now we’ve got nothing left.”

  Three

  “Show a leg! Rise and shine!” Andy yelled from outside the hospital flat, while it was still pitch dark.

  “Andrew Davison!” another voice roared. “Y
ou keep a civil tongue in your head, my lad.”

  “Oops. Sorry,” said Andy. “I didn’t think.”

  “It’s all right. We’re awake,” Sarah called. “We’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Jess poked her head out of the blankets. The air was damp and frigid. A rime of frozen condensation coated the edge of the top blanket, and caused her to gasp as her warm neck brushed against it.

  Sarah groped in the dark for the flint, and struck a spark into the dry tow which she had teased from an oiled bag. When she had blown the spark into a small flame, she touched it to the wick in the lantern, and waited for it to build up. If she left too much wick showing, it would smoke, and blacken the inside of the lantern glass. Satisfied with the light from her lantern, she pinched out the tow, and packed it away again for next time.

  “Oo, this is cruel,” Jess moaned, when her bare feet hit the chilly deck.

  “Oldest petticoats today,” Sarah ordered. “Aprons too. I think we’ll be busy, all right.”

  Andy was waiting for them when they emerged from the hospital flat.

  “I say,” he said, “I didn’t mean that. It’s what they say to me to get me up in the mornings.”

  “I’ll bet you enjoyed saying it anyway,” Jess retorted.

  With Sarah carrying their lantern, Andy led them to the galley, which opened from the deck housing to port. Inside, a plump man in a once white singlet was bent over a roaring coal range.

  “This is Angus MacGillivray, our cook,” Andy told them.

  “Mister