By Fickle Winds Blown

by Maryk Lewis

out.

  Gilbert Inkster was going ashore to meet the two constables: a Mr Rutherford, an important landowner in the colony, who had been appointed constable of the port watch; and a Mr Verity, a farmer and horse breeder, who would hold the same post in the starboard watch. Dr Reade made such appointments. They were paid three pounds for the voyage, not that they needed the money, but more to confirm the official nature of their appointments. The watch constables were always selected from the more prominent male passengers, and it was their job to see that the passengers behaved themselves whenever their particular watch was on duty. When at sea, the crew were divided into two watches, port and starboard, one of which rested and caught up on their sleep, while the other watch worked the ship. They swapped over every four hours, except in the evening dog-watches, which only lasted two hours.

  Together, Gil and the constables were going to spend all the comfort fund money, and the things they bought would be brought on board with the passengers when they embarked later in the day.

  Other things were being brought on board already. With one side of the ship devoted to the water barge, everything else had to come to the other. Ship’s stores were still arriving, and odd people coming and going. One fellow was a clerk from the owners’ office, with a list of changes and additions to be made to the ship’s charts. Mr Smithers, of course, was there too, several times, still worrying about shortages in the ship’s crew. Also poking about was an official concerned with the feeding and housing of livestock on board. Everybody seemed to want the captain at once, and all when he, poor fellow, needed to be busy with the preparation of his ship for sea.

  In the midst of all the hurly-burly, with Jess trying to remember to salute the flag every time she went out on deck, both sisters had to thread their way through, round, and over everything as they distributed empty palliasse covers to every steerage passenger’s berth on the ship. Those for the cabin passengers had first to be stuffed with hay, but at least they had Andrew’s help with the stuffing.

  No sooner was that done, than the corrected passenger list arrived, and they were set to copying all the names, so that Mr Milburn could have his own listing from which he could assign bunks for them all. The task should have fallen to the purser, but still there was no word of the man appointed to the position, so the mate had to add that to all his other duties.

  “You’ll be showing all the single women to their quarters,” he said to Sarah, “so I hope you know how we name the bunks.”

  “Port tier forward are the three bunks nearest the front of the ship, against the hull on the left-hand side. The second tier port comes just behind them, and so on,” Sarah quoted. “Then it’s just a matter of top, middle, or bottom.”

  “It sounds as if you have the idea,” he approved. “Now don’t take any nonsense from them. They have to take the bunks assigned to them, and they’re not allowed to swap. In an emergency, we have to know exactly where everybody is. If you find a bunk empty in the night, I’ll expect you to tell me precisely who it is that’s missing. They’ve already been placed with whoever was in their party when they bought their tickets, and known friends and relatives are all closely grouped. If we allow anybody at all to change after this, we’ll have to allow everybody, and that’s quite impossible. We’ll finish up with endless quarrels, and people with their feelings hurt.”

  “I suppose,” Jess observed, “that if you move to get closer to one person, you must automatically move further away from somebody else.”

  “Exactly,” the mate confirmed fussily. “When everybody’s all crammed in so close together for such a long time, these things become very important to them. There can be no favourites. They must all be treated exactly alike.”

  “What if they won’t go where I tell them?” Sarah asked nervously.

  “They will,” Mr Milburn replied with a grin. “So far as they’re concerned, you’re the sub-matron, and you don’t brook any arguments. You have your orders, and you know what you’re doing. For them, it’s all going to be very new, and they’ll all be a bit scared.”

  “Like us when we came aboard,” Jess nodded.

  “Yes, young lady, so you’ll know how they’re all feeling when you show the families to their quarters in the main hold.”

  “Me?” Jess squeaked. “Me telling grown-ups where to go?”

  “I’ll do the telling,” he laughed. “You’ll just have to show them the way.”

  And so it proved when Gil arrived back with the first boatload, a round dozen cabin passengers, prominent among whom were the constables. Mr Verity was a thick-set farmer, with an equally solid wife. Mr Rutherford was a portly, middle-aged man with muttonchop whiskers, and spectacles which sat on the end of his nose. He had with him a frail, unhappy-looking wife, her black hair streaked with grey. With them came two noisily unpleasant children.

  The older, a boy about the same age as Andy, thirteen, was excited, but trying not to show it. He spoke too loudly, however, and made the mistake of trying to order one of the sailors to carry his portmanteau on board. When the sailor, busy with other duties, refused, a great many people were aware of the incident, and the lad was greatly embarrassed.

  His sister, a spoiled-sounding nine-year-old, fared little better. She was loudly complaining about getting her skirts dirty on the tarry woodwork of the hoy which had carried them down river from the Gravesend Docks. Her father gruffly told her that tar on a boat was only to be expected, and gave her a large wickerwork basket to carry up the steep gangplank from the hoy to the ship’s deck.

  The first people the Rutherford children saw on gaining the deck were Sarah marking names off from a list, and Jess nearby with the Inkster youngsters at her feet. Jess had donned a new white apron for the occasion, and wore it over clothing freshly washed and ironed after her unintended swim on the previous evening. With her fair hair arranged in neat plaits, she looked cool and composed, very much at home in her surroundings.

  The Rutherfords, red-faced and panting from their exertions with their luggage on the gangplank, did not, and they were both very much aware of the difference. It was all much too heavy for them, and obviously they were not accustomed to doing anything in the nature of hard physical labour. Even little Phyllis could see it, and must have felt some sympathy for the newcomers.

  “Laurie, du kyerry da kishie fae da lassie,” she said in Norn, the language of her native Shetland, telling her brother to take the basket for the girl.

  “Du sood spaek da English,” her brother told her, breaking the rule himself, even as he moved forward to comply.

  “Oh, my hat...foreigners!” exclaimed the object of their concern, looking down her nose at them.

  “Perhaps you’ll allow us to help you with that,” Jess offered, quite unruffled, and determined to impress Mr Milburn with her efficiency. “I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  She knew which it was, for she had written up the list herself, and knew that these had to be the Rutherfords, Samantha and Charles, because there was no other family which fitted their description. Perhaps what she had been told about it being a long journey was going to prove true.

  Eight

  Ungraciously, Samantha Rutherford dumped her basket on the deck. Jess smiled sweetly at her, and took it by one cane handle, while Laurie heaved manfully at the other.

  Andy, meanwhile, had seen and heard all that from the rigging overhead, where he was installing a signal flag halyard. He had his own work to do, but couldn’t resist going to Jess’s support. He slid down a main stay, and dropped lightly to the deck, where he took the other handle of Charles’s portmanteau.

  Charles eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but didn’t refuse his offer of help. He knew he wasn’t going to get much further on his own, and was ready to accept help even from this scruffy, bare-footed urchin.

  Samantha, left with only her reticule to carry, felt herself suddenly the centre of all eyes. In truth, she was not, for most folk were too busy to take much notice of her, but she felt t
hat she was. The wee lad, half her size, working so hard, while she did nothing, was making her look ridiculous. She hurried forward, and laid her hand on the handle next to Jess.

  “I can help still,” she claimed.

  “Oh good,” said Jess, and relinquished the handle to her, while she herself dropped back to help Laurie.

  Over the companionway combing they wrestled the heavy luggage, and down the steep steps beyond. The faces of Charles and Samantha went from red to almost blue. Their eyes were practically popping out of their heads with the effort. Jess and Laurie were certainly working, but they were accustomed to it, and knew how to conserve their strength. All along the companionway they grunted, and shoved, and tugged, past the officers’ cabins, and into the great cabin. The Rutherfords, by then, were both dizzy and in pain, heaving and puffing like steam engines in a station.

  “Nearest cabin to port,” Jess instructed Samantha who was in front.

  “Port?” Samantha wheezed. “The harbour up the river?”

  “No, not that sort of port,” Jess smiled. “The left side of the boat. That’s to your right.”

  “Oh dear!” said Samantha, and burst into tears. She plunked down on the deck, where she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t go any further,” she wailed. “Why is the left on my right?”

  “Because