by Maryk Lewis
shown,” the mate called up from the boat. “There’s seven more passengers on the wharf. Perhaps he’ll be there when I get back.”
But there was still no purser at the end of the boat’s second trip, and while the new passengers were being lifted aboard in a sling the captain sent for Gil.
“You’re it as far as Lyttelton,” he said. “How are you managing with the school to run as well?”
“Most of the bookwork’s done,” Gil replied, “and the purser’s other work is being shared with the two stewards. It’ll be good experience for them. Some of the stewards’ work in turn is being done by Auld Maggie and young Jessica. It seems to be all working out all right.”
“We’ve no choice anyway,” Captain Hedley sighed. “Andrew Davison won’t be so busy once we get clear of the channel, so you can call on him for another pair of hands if you need them. I doubt he’ll complain.”
Once the ship’s boat was back in its falls, and the anchor raised, they began tacking back and forth against a southerly wind out of Plymouth Sound, until they could clear Rame Head to the west. Thereafter they could sail a straight course south-west, and were opposite the Lizard Point light by nightfall.
“We’ll make good time now,” Andy said cheerfully as he passed Sarah in the galley doorway.
Within half-an hour, though, the fickle wind had died away, and they were lying becalmed. There was a scurry of activity aloft as sailors took in some of the sails, and more activity on the deck as the spars were hauled around to set the remaining sails for the other tack.
“What happens now?” Sarah asked the cook.
“The wind will come in strongly from the north,” he told her. “Quite nasty. It’ll churn up the Bay of Biscay no end.”
“That’s south of here, over by France and Spain. It’s a bad place, isn’t it?”
“One of the roughest pieces of sea in the world,” he informed her. “Even ships’ captains get seasick when she gets rough.”
“Have you ever been seasick?”
“Yes, but not in the bay. Cook Strait in between the two main islands of New Zealand, that’s the place that got me. I’ve never been anywhere rougher than that.”
“Will we have to cross the Bay of Biscay?”
“Captain Hedley likes to go round it in a northerly wind. We keep to the west until we’re well out in the Atlantic, and then we can run straight south before the wind. Most ships use Bishop Rock in the Scillies for a mark, but we won’t turn south until after we’ve sighted the Fastnet Rock to the south of Ireland. It’s much easier on the passengers and crew, and if the wind holds we’ll be down off Portugal even faster. When you’re at sea, the shortest way isn’t always the quickest.”
In the calm while the evening darkened the ship rolled sickeningly, the sails hanging slack, and slapping against the masts. Many of the passengers who thought they had finished with their bouts of seasickness were brought back to the gunwales with fresh pangs. The newest passengers suffered worst of all.
Again the lanterns were hung in the rigging, so that the crew could keep watch over the people lining the ship’s side. It was as well that they did.
Samantha was one of those leaning over the side when the wind hit. The sudden rush of air came at them unseen, unheralded out of the darkness. One moment the air was still, even though the sea was choppy and piled up with cross-currents and competing swells. The next moment they were caught in a half-gale, and the ship heeled away over to leeward.
That, of course, was the side over which Samantha was leaning. The gunwale dropped away under her, and the sea came up to meet her, dimly seen fingers of froth reaching for her out of the blackness.
She screamed.
The sound, loud though it was, was all but lost among the screams of the other passengers. At the same time a loud crack like a rifle shot came from somewhere overhead. A frightening confusion reigned, with scrambling bodies in the night, noise, wind, and flying spray.
Jess, standing poised behind Samantha, one arm wrapped around a stay line, clutched at her with her free hand. She got a handful of skirt and petticoats. One of Samantha’s thrashing feet lodged under her armpit, and pulled her forward and outward, trying to catapult her over the side. She clung desperately to her handholds on both sides, one for herself, one for Samantha. Cold water sloshed over her, soaking her to the skin. For a moment Samantha was completely immersed, and emerged from the retreating wave coughing and spluttering.
“Not again!” Andy’s welcome voice came to Jess out of the wild night behind her, and a clamp like a band of iron went around her waist. Bodily, as the gunwale rose to the ship’s rolling in the other direction, he hauled her back on board. Whimpering, Samantha came with her willy-nilly, and together the three of them slid in a sprawling heap across the deck to fetch up in the opposite scuppers.
“Here, here, young fellow!” the boatswain’s voice boomed. “No canoodling with the passengers, hey?”
His heavy hand fell on the collar of Andy’s shirt, and the young sailor was stood on his feet. The girls were helped more gently. The boatswain had Samantha firmly by the arm; Andy had Jess around the waist again.
“If you’ve finished feeding the fishes on second-hand supper,” the boatswain said to Samantha, “we’ll pop you below again.”
“I’ve already been underneath!” Samantha wailed. “I don’t need another wash. I’m soaked to the skin now.”
“Below decks, my love,” the boatswain laughed. “Back safe in the arms of your doting parents.”
“You’ve done it again, haven’t you Andy?” Jess said after they had gone. “You’re making a habit of saving my life.”
“Nice habit,” Andy commented hoarsely.
“I’ll be quite safe now,” she said meaningfully.
“Er, yes,” he said blankly, still holding her tight.
“You can let go my waist now.”
“Oh, wow!” he gasped, whipping his hands away as if her sodden waist had been boiling hot. “Sorry.”
She laughed, and catching him by his shoulders, kissed him firmly on his salt-splattered cheek.
“That’s getting to be a habit too,” she said.
“Nice habit,” he repeated with a hand to his cheek. He was trembling visibly. Perhaps he was feeling the cold.
“I must go and change before I catch a chill,” she decided quickly, a little disturbed by something in the timbre of his voice. She suddenly felt very young, something she was not accustomed to, for people always treated her as if she was older than she was.
Not older in some ways though. She would not be ready for a beau, a suitor, a young man courting her for at least another year yet, and marriage should best be a couple of years beyond that. Some parts of growing up were a bit much for a girl to cope with.
She hurried away to the ‘tween decks aft, leaving Andy bewildered, standing there. Jess was distressed to find that among the runnels of salt spray on her cheeks were salt tears of her own. Auld Maggie noticed them in the dim light of the candle lanthorn by her bunk.
“Fir why ist du greetin’, lassie?” she asked.
“I’ve hurt Andy’s feelings, I think,” Jess blubbed, seeing the look of sympathy on the old woman’s face.
“He’ll tak nae harm, dat een,” Auld Maggie assured her. “He’ll be aroon agin.”
“I’m just not used to boys like that,” Jess told her.
“Du wull be,” Auld Maggie gave a knowing cackle. “Ah wis affianced at twelve meself, an’ wed to ma Jamie at thirteen.”
“I’ll be twelve next month,” Jess said, “but none of my sisters were promised till fourteen.”
“At’s soon enow,” the old woman nodded, “an’ da lad’s nae money firby. Geng du canny, lass. A kuss an’ a cuddle’ll kap da lad in da knot o’ yir apron strings.”
“A kiss and a cuddle,” Jess repeated doubtfully.
“Aye, an’ nae affen,” Auld Maggie agreed.
When Sarah came down from the hospital flat later, she found Jess in
her bunk, but not yet asleep.
“You been swimming with young Andy again, have you?” she asked jokingly. “You know that the Chinese believe that a person becomes your responsibility if you save their life?”
“That would make me Andy’s responsibility twice over,” Jess observed.
“I’ve a suspicion he wouldn’t object,” Sarah said.
“Do you think it would be all right to let him kiss me?” Jess asked.
Sarah paused, and eyed her little sister seriously.
“You don’t ‘let’ him,” she replied. “You either kiss him right back when he kisses you, or you don’t let him kiss you at all.”
“Yes, well should I at all then?”
“They’re your kisses,” Sarah shrugged. “I can’t decide that for you. Just remember that what you choose to give at any time can’t be taken back without causing great hurt. If you do something once, you’ll be expected to do just as much next time, and sooner or later a little more as well.”
“So I space things out?”
“Space things out wide,” Sarah advised her. “Aunt Janet told me that there are twenty seven steps on the staircase to a happy marriage, and that I shouldn’t tread on the last ten until after the ceremony.”
“Oh, my,” Jess giggled. “What do you have to do to get on the first step?”
“Smile at the fellow.”
“And the second?”
“I suppose that’s holding hands.”
“Oh dear, I think I’m on the third step already.”
“Then you’re catching up on me rather quickly, little sister,” Sarah sighed. “I’ve yet to take even the first