Salvation

by Harriet Steel

  The hold into which the guards had thrown the three of them was sweltering and cramped. Tom wiped his damp forehead. He had planned to use seasickness as an excuse to avoid saying too much on the journey but it seemed he would not need to dissemble very much.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he gasped. ‘Do you think they’ll let us out of here? I might fare better on deck.’

  The man called Hugh sneezed. ‘We’d all fare better on deck,’ he said morosely. ‘But if it’s like Newgate, every privilege will have to be paid for and the guards emptied my pockets before we left London. They said they needed what I had to pay for my food.’

  ‘It was the same with me,’ the tall man said.

  They lapsed into silence for a time then there was a rattle of chains and the hatch opened. One of the guards looked in.

  Shielding his eyes, Tom blinked.

  ‘Let us up on deck, for pity’s sake,’ Hugh said.

  The guard laughed. ‘What’s it worth?’

  ‘You know I haven’t any money, you made sure of that before we left London.’

  The hatch slammed down and they heard the rattle of chains again. Hugh cursed.

  ‘Try and sleep,’ the tall man said. ‘I slept a lot in Newgate, it passed the time.’

  ‘You’re very calm, Richard,’ Hugh said wryly.

  ‘What choice do I have? If it’s God’s will that I be punished for my faith, I must accept it.’

  ‘You may be resigned to rotting away in a damp hellhole, forgive me if I’m not.’ Hugh squinted at Tom in the dim light that filtered through the salt-encrusted porthole. ‘I don’t know your face. Who are you?’

  ‘Gilbert Rowley.’

  Hugh frowned. ‘Gilbert Rowley? I heard you were sick - too sick to move. You don’t look very sick to me apart from having the stomach of a green girl.’

  ‘I told you to leave him alone, Hugh,’ Richard said. ‘It may be weeks before we reach Wisbech; however bad the journey may be we should at least be civil among ourselves.’

  With a grunt, Hugh used his hand to wipe away the mucus running from his sharp nose. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  Tom longed for sleep too, but the footsteps overhead and the creak of the ship’s timbers as she rolled prevented it. Hour after hour, he listened to Hugh’s snores and coughs until at last the hatch opened once more and another guard’s face appeared.

  Disturbed by the light, Hugh woke. ‘What do you want?’ he wheezed.

  ‘Captain says you’re to come out and use the heads. He likes a clean ship.’

  Hugh prodded Richard. ‘Wake up! They’re letting us out for a bit.’

  Stiff and numb, the three of them clambered up the ladder and onto the deck where the guards waited for them, their muskets raised. Tom inhaled the salt-laden air and gazed around him. The coastline was so flat and marshy it seemed to bleed into the sea. Everything was as grey as a mouse’s back but after the months inside Newgate’s bleak walls, the scene had an eerie, shimmering beauty that fed his eyes.

  ‘No dawdling.’ One of the guards poked him with the barrel of his musket. Reluctantly, he shuffled along the deck to the heads and waited his turn. A dank smell rose from the stained planks. He lowered his eyes and tried to concentrate. After a few moments, he managed to relieve himself. When everyone had finished, the elder of the two guards gave a surly nod.

  ‘That’ll do, down below with you.’

  As they returned to the hatch, Tom drank in the view once more. It might be his only respite from the damp, fetid hold for a long time. At the ladder, his legs buckled as one of the guards kicked him.

  ‘Get a move on,’ the man growled. Stumbling, Tom realised he was weaker than he had thought.

  ‘How many of them do you think there are?’ Richard whispered when they were shut in again.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone except those two guards and the captain and his mate,’ Hugh said. ‘But four of them against us three, and us with no weapons but our bare hands?’ He threw a scornful glance at Tom. ‘And one of us as much use as a bucket of piss to a parched man? They might as well be a hundred.’ He lay down on his side and wrapped his cloak around him. ‘I’m going to sleep. It’s all over with us.’

  *

  The monotonous days dragged by. Up on deck the weather was cold and windy, but the sticky heat in the pokey hold drained the little energy Tom had, although to his relief, his seasickness subsided. Once a day, a guard brought them salted herring that was tough as leather to chew. It gave Tom a raging thirst and, even though the small beer they were given was musty and full of chaff, he waited impatiently for his daily ration.

  All of them slept a great deal and Richard also spent hours in prayer, his rosary beads clicking through his fingers. He seemed to Tom a gentle, devout person who was genuine in his insistence that all he sought was the freedom to follow his conscience. Hugh was a different matter, an angry man railing against his fate. He was the younger son of a Derbyshire family, arrested on suspicion of plotting against the queen.

  ‘Ridding England of a heretic, more like,’ he said bitterly. ‘And what was the charge against you, Rowley? Come on, give an account of yourself.’

  It was the question Tom had dreaded but to his relief, when he fleshed out the story Lamotte had given him, Hugh appeared to accept it.

  ‘Richard is the saint among us,’ he sneered. ‘He trained for the priesthood.’

  ‘That’s not entirely true,’ Richard objected, ‘but when I was a young man, I hoped to. I even went to Rome and visited the English College but while I was there, I received the news of my father’s death and came home.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go back when you’d settled his affairs?’ Tom asked.

  ‘My sister needed me to stay.’

  ‘She had no husband to support her?’

  Richard gave one of his rare smiles. ‘My sister has a strong will. She was more than capable of running the estate without me but there were other problems. With the harsher anti-Catholic laws, if I had gone back to Rome, my family would have suffered crippling penalties on my account. I did not want that on my conscience.’

  One day, the sea seemed calmer than usual. When they went on deck to use the heads, Tom understood why. Dense fog swirled around the ship, obscuring everything that was more than a few yards in front of him. The sails were slack and standing in the bow, the captain stared intently into the milky air. As they passed, he jerked his thumb at them.

  ‘There’s rocks hereabouts. Some of those prayers of yours wouldn’t come amiss.’

  Down below once more, it was hard to tell through the cloudy porthole whether the fog had dispersed but Tom guessed it was still there, for the ship’s motion remained sluggish. Richard dozed fitfully or prayed but Hugh carped and fretted constantly. Much as he disliked him, Tom felt some pity for his sufferings.

  ‘If we hit the rocks, it will be all over with us,’ he moaned. ‘Do you really think the guards will release us? Not them, why would they care?’ He started as the timbers creaked. ‘They’ll leave the hatch chained. If the wood’s sound, we’ll have no chance of forcing it. We’ll die like rats in a barrel.’

  Richard’s fingers paused on his rosary. ‘If it is God’s will we should live, He will keep us safe from harm.’

  In the dim light, Tom saw Hugh’s fists clench. As he lunged at Richard, he seized Hugh’s arms and pinioned them behind his back. Hugh started to shout and struggle.

  The noise must have alerted the guards for the hatch opened. ‘That’s enough down there,’ a guard said roughly. He tapped his musket. ‘Or you’ll feel the butt of this.’

  The hatch slammed down. Glowering, Hugh broke away and crouched in a corner. ‘I won’t forget that, Rowley.’

  As night drew in, the others slept but Tom lay awake. Clearly, he had made an enemy of Hugh and the feeling was mutual. He would have few qualms about watching him at Wisbech, but Richard was different. He appeared to be a genuinely good man and his serene acceptance of his fate was remarkable. It s
eemed far more shameful to deceive him.

  When at last a faint light glimmered in the porthole, Tom noticed the ship gather speed. He felt the tension leave his body; the immediate danger must be over. But what were they saved for? He fell to thinking of his last conversation with Lamotte. He had spoken of years, rather than months, before he won his freedom. Was he telling the truth or merely offering a crumb of comfort? Perhaps his imprisonment at Wisbech would last until he died. A chill came over him.

  Richard stirred. ‘Is it morning?’

  Relieved to have his thoughts interrupted, Tom pushed them to the back of his mind. ‘Yes, and I think the fog has lifted.’

  ‘Our prayers were answered,’ Richard smiled. ‘God has kept us safe.’

  *

  ‘Storm’s coming,’ one of the guards said gruffly as they went up to use the heads later that morning. He pointed to the iron-grey clouds on the horizon. ‘We’ll need luck if we’re to make landfall at King’s Lynn before it reaches us. You’d best pray harder.’

  With a sizzle like fat dropping on a hot skillet, the rain swept in just before dusk. Soon the scream of the wind in the rigging and the buffeting of the waves against the hull filled Tom’s ears. He felt his nausea return as the ship pitched violently. Fear quelled even Hugh’s belligerence. He crouched in a corner, rocking and mumbling a barely coherent string of prayers, but even in the terrible straits in which they found themselves, Richard’s serenity did not desert him. As the storm’s fury increased, Tom marvelled at his calmness.

  Suddenly, a tremendous crash shook the hold. The ceiling splintered and part of it fell in. A wave of icy water gushed through the hole. Drenched, Tom leapt to his feet. ‘We need to get out,’ he yelled over the noise of the wind. Another wave crashed into the hold. As the spray cleared, Tom saw water was seeping through the planking as well. The impact must have sprung its seams.

  ‘You’re the lightest of us, Rowley,’ Richard shouted in his ear. ‘I’ll push you up. Try and undo the hatch from above.’ He took a step towards Tom then stumbled backwards as the ship pitched violently. Another torrent of water gushed through the broken timbers.

  Hugh’s face was grey. He seemed unable to move. Steady on his feet again, Richard shook him. ‘Don’t be afraid. God is with us.’ He held out his interlocked hands to Tom. ‘Hurry!’

  Tom clawed at the wet wood but it was too slippery. He felt a sharp pain as a splinter ripped into his palm. Blood spurted from the wound and he fell back.

  ‘Try again,’ Richard shouted.

  Every sinew stretched, Tom jumped once more. This time his grip held and he hauled himself through the hole.

  The mainmast lay on the deck surrounded by mounds of canvas. He smelt sulphur.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Over the wind, Richard’s voice floated up from below.

  ‘The mainmast’s smashed. I can’t see the crew or the guards.’

  A wall of water towered over the ship and smashed on the deck almost knocking him into the sea. Just in time, Tom grabbed the rail and clung to it, buffeted by the wind as the ship plunged. When it righted itself, he saw a body wedged against the starboard rail. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled around the wreckage of the mainmast. The captain lay on his back, eyes wide open. His head lolled to one side. Blood seeped from a gash running from his temple to his jaw.

  Another wave slewed across the deck and for a few moments, Tom could think of nothing but holding on. When the water subsided, he crawled back to the hole. ‘The captain’s dead,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t see anyone else. They may have been washed overboard. I nearly was too.’

  Richard cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Can you open the hatch?’ he yelled. ‘The water’s already ankle deep.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Battling the heavy chains took all his remaining strength but at last they yielded. He threw back the hatch. Hugh’s terrified face stared up from below. Richard pushed him up the ladder and followed.

  The ship pitched again, sending them slithering across the deck into the rail.

  ‘We’re lost,’ Hugh bawled. ‘The waves will smash us to pieces. I’m not staying here.’

  Richard seized him. ‘Don’t be a fool. You’ll never survive in this sea.’

  Tom looked over the rail. In the dim light, the shore crouched like an animal at bay. It looked no more than half a mile away but it was half a mile of surging grey water. He fought down the fear that threatened to engulf him.

  There was a clap of thunder and lightning flashed across the sky. Ahead, Tom saw the heaving sea changed to a maelstrom of white froth. Black teeth of half-submerged rocks bristled malevolently. His heartbeat raced. They were heading straight for them.

  A few moments later, with a rasping growl, the ship reared out of the water. Tossed across the deck, Tom collided with the mainmast. He came to rest entangled in the streaming canvas around it. Richard lay dazed close by but Hugh tottered to his feet, swaying like a drunken man.

  ‘I’ll not stay here,’ he repeated.

  Before Tom had time to stop him, he hoisted himself over the rail. Ignoring Tom’s shouts for him to come back, he started to clamber along the treacherous rocks. Tom watched in horror as he struggled, slipping into the crevices between the rocks and hauling himself out, until at last he disappeared into the white water, this time for good.

  Numbly, Tom stared at the place where Hugh had been. The danger was not over. Hugh’s fate might still be his own.

  He stood on the deck, his wet clothes sticking to his shivering body. It was only when the wind calmed that he heard a groan and was reminded that Richard was with him. He knelt down beside him.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Cautiously, Richard sat up. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said at last. He looked around. ‘Where’s Hugh?’

  ‘I tried to stop him but it was no use. He fell in the water trying to reach the shore. I think he drowned.’

  Richard staggered to his feet and almost fell. Tom seized his elbow. ‘Don’t move too quickly.’

  With glazed eyes, Richard stared at the dark waters. ‘Poor fellow,’ he said sadly.

  The sea made no more than a soft sucking sound now as it lapped at the base of the rocks. It was hard to believe that only a little while ago, it had raged so ferociously. The storm was over. Above them, the clouds were already parting to reveal a black, velvety sky pricked with hard, bright stars. Tom felt as if a great burden had lifted from his shoulders. He lay on his back on the deck and stared upwards. Richard was speaking but he hardly heard him. His body felt weightless.

  ‘Rowley!’ A dash of salt water roused him. ‘Get up,’ Richard said. ‘We have to get off the ship. If anyone sees the wreck, they’ll be bound to come looking for plunder. We don’t want them finding us.’

  Tom struggled to his feet and strained his eyes to discern the dim outline of the shore.

  ‘Can you swim?’ Richard asked.

  ‘Swim? Yes,’ Tom said doubtfully. He had swum in the river in Salisbury many times but the sea was a different matter.

  ‘The rocks are clear of the water now, we shouldn’t slip but you need to be ready if you do.’

  ‘Should we see if there are any pickings to be had before we go?’

  Richard hesitated. ‘I suppose money is no use to dead men,’ he said reluctantly.

  The captain’s body was already stiffening and they had to drag his arms away from his sides to remove the knife and purse on his belt. In the cabin, they found more coins, a bottle of grog, some hard cheese and a small sack of biscuits.

  ‘It might be the last meal we have for a while,’ Tom said as they ate and drank hungrily. In spite of his sodden clothes and boots he felt the grog warm him. Richard had a faraway expression on his face.

  ‘What is it?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I was wondering what we should do once we reach shore. We could be anywhere. If we try to get back to our families, we shall only put them in danger.’

  ‘Let’s worry about
that when we’re off this ship. It’s time we were leaving.’

  The wet rocks were smooth as glass under their feet. Frequently, Tom lost his footing and it was not long before he was a mass of bruises but eventually, their painful progress brought them to the end of the outcrop. A narrow stretch of water separated them from the shore.

  ‘We’d best take our boots off,’ Richard said. ‘They’ll weigh us down. Just keep your shirt and breeches on, I’ll tie the rest in my cloak and swim with it.’

  When they were ready, he slid into the water and held out his arms. ‘Give me the bundle and be quick about it. This water’s freezing.’

  Hesitantly, Tom threw it out to him then followed. He had been cold before but the sea knocked the breath from his body. For a moment, it closed over his head then he came up spluttering and managed to take his first stroke. Ahead of him, Richard ploughed determinedly towards the shore.

  From the rocks, the distance had not seemed great but now Tom was in the water, it looked a very long way off. With alarm, he felt the current drag him in a direction where he did not want to go. Suddenly, a tremendous pain gripped his legs making it impossible to kick with them. His mouth filled and his head went under. Dazed by panic, he tried to regain the surface but it eluded him. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting when strong arms pulled him upwards and he breathed air once more.

  ‘Don’t struggle,’ Richard shouted. ‘It’s not much further. A few more yards and you should be able to stand.’

  Water spewing from his mouth, Tom let himself be towed along until he felt Richard’s grip relax. He put one foot down and felt shingle beneath it then stumbled upright to find the water came no further than his waist. A few moments later, he collapsed on the rocky beach.

  ‘Thank you,’ he panted.

  ‘Thank God, not me,’ Richard said gravely.

  Tom succumbed to a fit of coughing. ‘I think you are more worthy of thanks,’ he said when he recovered his breath.

  If Richard disapproved of such blasphemy, he did not show it.

  They sat in silence for a while, Richard with his hands clasped in prayer and Tom thinking of the narrow escape he had had. Acutely aware of the cold, he wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed vigorously to try and keep warm.