The days wore on, and the southern ocean slipped by beneath them. Molly’s notches above Long Meg’s bed grew crowded, until there were over a hundred of them. The weather grew colder, and Molly huddled up to Hannah at night to keep warm.
Hannah could not remember the end of Thomas Behr’s story.
‘Surely she finds him,’ said Molly as they sat together on the forecastle.
‘I suppose so,’ said Hannah.
Molly stood up and leaned over the railing, watching the ocean rush by beneath them. ‘Is he in a cave? Or a castle? Or at the bottom of the ocean, in Davy Jones’s locker?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Thomas will be able to tell us when we get to New South Wales. He’ll remember.’
Molly asked her about Thomas, and Hannah smiled.
‘When I was younger, I called him Mr Bear,’ she said. ‘He knew so many stories.’
‘Is he a convict like us? Or a sailor?’
‘He’s an officer. He’s very brave and strong.’
‘Has he fought a shark?’ asked Molly.
‘Oh, probably,’ said Hannah.
‘And a tiger? Has he fought a tiger?’
‘Of course,’ said Hannah. ‘He fought a tiger in India.’
The sea grew ferocious, and the women were no longer allowed onto the upper deck for fear of falling overboard in the rough swell. The wind howled and screamed in the rigging, and sea-spray was constantly soaking the upper decks and dripping through to the lower and orlop decks.
The women were allowed up onto the lower deck once a day for their dinner, which they clutched with cold hands, trying to soak up what little warmth there was.
The sailors were edgy and nervous, muttering stories of terrible storms and shipwrecks. Molly listened, her good eye wide, as Jemmy Griffin told her about the wreck of the Flying Dutchman.
‘D–did they all die?’ Molly’s voice was barely a whisper.
Jemmy Griffin nodded. ‘But they says the ghost of the ship still sails these waters, with the dead sailors working every hour of the day in complete silence.’
Molly’s mouth was open.
‘Keep an eye out for the Dutchman, missy,’ said Jemmy. ‘You’ll know her for her ragged black sails, and the ghostly figures that appear on her decks.’
Molly looked out the porthole, and Jemmy Griffin chuckled. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘The storm ain’t fierce enough. Wait another two weeks. Then you’ll see her.’
As Jemmy had predicted, after two weeks the storm intensified. Waves as tall as mountains crashed over the Derby Ram, sending rivers of water pouring through the grate in the ceiling and soaking the women. Men worked the ship’s pumps constantly, but she took in gallons of water which sloshed and rolled around the orlop deck and the hold.
One large wave washed through the mess and put out the stove in the galley. There was no dry wood or coal anywhere to be found in the ship, and so everyone ate stale biscuits and cold salt pork. The temperature continued to drop. In the few moments of stillness when the ship was not being battered and pounded by water, frost formed along the ropes and the rails of the ship.
Captain Gartside ordered extra rations of grog for everyone on board the ship. Hannah hated the taste of the sailors’ rum, but she gulped it down anyway, savouring the few moments of warmth it brought before another wave crashed against the ship and drenched her once more.
The storm continued for a fortnight. Nearly a month after leaving Cape Town, Hannah sat on her bed, huddled against the ship’s hull, her damp blanket pulled up around her and her cold, stiff fingers clutching Thomas’s handkerchief. The now familiar aching in her abdomen had returned, and was all the worse for the cold. Hannah got up and went over to the chest where the clean rags were kept.
The dragging pain intensified, and Hannah bent over slightly as she made her way back to her bed. As she curled up under her wet blanket, she wished that Long Meg was there to make fun of her.
Don’t be such a layabout, she’d say. If a woman kept to her bed every time she had brambles in the strawberry patch, Rome would’ve never been builded, and King George’d have holes in his socks.
Molly scratched another notch in the wood above Long Meg’s bed. They’d been at sea now for four months.
‘Can’t we go outside?’ Molly asked, putting down the spoon.
‘Not in this weather,’ said Hannah. ‘We’re not allowed.’
‘Why not?’
Hannah sighed. ‘We just can’t.’
She closed her eyes and pictured what was now a familiar scene. The ship sailed regally into Port Jackson. The harbour was crowded with onlookers waving handkerchiefs and cheering. A long, angled gangplank was lowered, and the convict women descended. Hannah was last. Her hair had grown into a short, fashionable style, and she had sewn herself a new dress and pelisse. She was weary, but her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. The crowd parted before her to reveal Thomas standing at the back.
She opened her eyes again. Molly was gone. She was not in any of the other beds. Surely she couldn’t have gone on deck in this weather?
With a sigh, Hannah climbed out of her own bed and made her way along the aisle to the stairs. Water sloshed around her feet. Her legs were stiff and aching from the cold. She pulled herself up the stairs, and made her way onto the lower deck.
The ship was groaning, her timbers shrieking as they were battered by the wind and the rain and the sea. Hannah got down on her hands and knees to climb the flight of stairs to the upper deck. The hatch was closed, and she struggled with the catch. It finally clicked open. The weather rushed in at her, buffeting her from all sides. Molly couldn’t be up here.
There were no sailors on deck. The sails had been rolled up, and every rope and piece of canvas had been secured. Hannah couldn’t see Molly anywhere. She was reaching out to lower the hatch again, when she heard a scream. She peered through the rain again and could just make out a dark shape on the forecastle.
She crawled out onto the deck, and made her way over to the stairs on her hands and knees. The wind was howling and screeching in the rigging. She looked up to the forecastle deck, and saw a figure in black standing between the guns. It was too tall and broad to be Molly.
A roar made her turn around, and she screamed. An enormous wave towered above the ship, higher than Hannah had thought possible. It surged and boiled up over them, and then hung there, suspended for a moment. The figure on deck had turned when Hannah had screamed, and in the instant before the wave came crashing down, Hannah saw his face.
It was Dr Ullathorne.
When the wave hit, Hannah was slammed against the deck. The air was crushed out of her lungs and she hit her head hard. Her mouth and nostrils filled with salt water and she felt dragged towards the ocean as the water poured off the side of the ship. Somehow her numb fingers managed to hold onto the rail, and she gasped for air.
Dr Ullathorne was leaning over the railing, yelling something into the wind. Hannah blinked water from her eyes, and saw another face.
It was Molly, clinging to the rigging on the bowsprit, her white face full of terror. Hannah pulled herself upright and began to climb the stairs.
Then, they were falling. The Derby Ram rushed and tumbled down into the trough created by the monster wave. The ship tilted forward dramatically and Hannah found the stairs suddenly sloping downwards as the ship was sucked, nose-first into the trough. Molly screamed again, high and piercing. Hannah went skidding across the forecastle deck. The deck was almost vertical as the ship plunged downwards. Hannah caught a glimpse of Molly, dangling from a rope and screaming.
The ship smacked down into the bottom of the trough with a booming crash. The timbers shuddered and screamed with the effort of staying together. Hannah felt the boards beneath her buckle and shift, and for a moment she thought the Derby Ram was being crushed to splinters. But the ship immediately righted itself in the water, and the deck was horizontal once more. Hannah pulled herself upwards. The doctor didn’t look at her,
just stared out at Molly, his face blank.
Molly was frozen against the bowsprit. Below her, the ocean churned.
Hannah leaned over the rail. ‘Molly!’ she screamed. ‘Grab my hand!’
But Molly was too far away. Hannah turned to Dr Ullathorne.
‘Help me!’ she said. ‘Get help!’
Dr Ullathorne didn’t take his eyes off Molly.
Hannah glanced down at the thrashing waters below, and gritted her teeth. She swung one leg over the forecastle rail, and then the other. Gripping the rail behind her with one hand, she reached out to grab a rope. She leaned forward, letting go of the rail to reach out for Molly.
There was a crack, as another wave hit the side of the ship. Water hit Hannah with a smack, and she lost her hold on the rope. She fell down onto the lower-front part of the forecastle deck and grabbed one of the knightheads to stop herself from being washed overboard. She looked up. Molly still clung to the bowsprit, where it angled up and out over the ocean.
‘Molly!’ cried Hannah. ‘Can you climb down to me?’
Molly turned her enormous frightened eye to Hannah.
‘It’s all right,’ Hannah yelled. ‘I’ll catch you if you fall. You just need to move over the lower deck, in away from the water!’
Molly closed her eye, and after what seemed like an age, she began to move. She inched down along the bowsprit, eye tightly squeezed shut. The ship juddered as it rushed into another trough, and Molly lost her grip. She slipped and tumbled along the bowsprit and slammed against the stern of the ship, falling to the lower part of the deck with a thump.
Hannah rushed over and helped her up. She was still conscious, but looked very dazed. Hannah dragged her over to the tiny door which led to the upper-deck cabins. There was no handle; it only opened from the inside. She pushed and kicked and yelled, but the noise was sucked away by the roar of the storm.
Water pounded down on them from all around, and Hannah felt the ocean trying to suck her and Molly in and down into Davy Jones’s locker. Her limbs felt heavy, her sopping dress dragging on her.
The doctor was standing on the forecastle deck, leaning over the rail and staring at them.
‘Help us, damn you!’ screamed Hannah.
He didn’t move, just stared. Hannah thought she saw a flicker of a smile play around his crumbling face. He looked terrible. His nose had completely collapsed in on itself, and his sunken cheeks were streaked with thick black lines where Meg has slashed him with the knife. One of his eyes was red and weeping, the other clouded over with a black film. His lips were covered in white pustules which swelled them to five times their original size, exposing rotten teeth and strings of black saliva.
She looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll repay you, I promise. Anything.’
Molly gripped Hannah’s arm. ‘He followed me, Hannah. I just wanted to go out to the air and see the stars and look for the Flying Dutchman. But he followed me and I runned away until I couldn’t run any more and then I climbed.’
Hannah didn’t look away from him. ‘Anything.’
For a moment, Hannah thought he was going to walk away. Then he was lying on the forecastle deck on his stomach, leaning over the edge and reaching down to them.
Hannah stretched out one arm, wrapped the other around Molly and jumped. Dr Ullathorne caught her arm and hauled, just as another great wave came crashing down on top of them. His grip didn’t slacken as he heaved them up onto the forecastle deck.
Hannah looked down and saw water surging over the small platform where they had stood before, sucking and drawing back out to sea. Hannah shuddered, imagining her and Molly being sucked with it, down to the bottom of the ocean.
Hannah clung to the deck for a moment, panting and trying not to cry, then she pulled herself upright to face the doctor. Even through the storm, she could smell his rotting flesh. He had helped Molly to her feet, and stood with his hand clamped on her shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ said Hannah.
The doctor smiled. His lips were so swollen he couldn’t close his mouth. ‘No need,’ he said.
He turned to Molly. ‘Come along, my dear.’
Molly turned to Hannah, shocked. The driving wind and rain whipped wet ropes of hair against her face.
Hannah reached out. ‘Molly, come with me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Dr Ullathorne.
Hannah stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said “anything”. I want her. With no more … interventions. No more late night visits from your friends. There’s only so many excuses I can make to Gartside.’
Molly tried to run to Hannah, but Dr Ullathorne tightened his grip on her shoulder.
‘Why?’ asked Hannah. ‘What can you possibly want with her?’
‘Study,’ he hissed. ‘If I can cure her deformity, then I can find the cure to my own sickness.’
Hannah tasted bile.
‘You’ll kill her,’ she said.
‘A small price to pay,’ he said quietly, then another giant wave pounded the ship with gallons of rushing water.
They were all knocked down, grasping for something to hold onto. Hannah clambered to her feet, and managed to put herself between Molly and Dr Ullathorne. The doctor struggled to stand, slipping on the wet deck.
The ship seemed to hang in the air for a moment, as it reached the crest of another mountainous wave. Dr Ullathorne leapt at Hannah and Molly, his fingers extended like claws. Hannah lashed out at him, pushing him away. He staggered backwards, falling heavily against the rail.
The ship tilted forwards as it began to rush down the wave into the next trough. It hit the bottom of the trough so hard that Hannah imagined they had tumbled all the way to the bottom of the ocean, and were smacking against the seabed. Dr Ullathorne was thrown back again, and the rail behind him snapped. He teetered, trying to find some balance or handhold.
Hannah hesitated. He reached out towards her. ‘I saved you,’ he said.
Hannah wished that Thomas was there to tell her what to do. Or Long Meg. Meg would want him to die. Send him over arsey yarsey! she’d yell.
But Long Meg wasn’t there. There was no one else. Just Hannah. She looked upwards into the storm. The rain stung her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Meg,’ she said.
The doctor slumped in relief, and held out his other hand.
Hannah took a step forward, and looked into his eyes. She grabbed his wrists. The ship tilted again.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t do this earlier,’ she said, and pushed.
Dr Ullathorne screamed, but the sound was snatched away by the wind. Then he was gone. There was a rumble of thunder and a crack of lightning, as if the storm were devouring him. In the sudden brightness of the lightning, Hannah thought she could see another figure, over on the poop deck, silhouetted against the raging storm. But the lightning flickered out, and the figure vanished.
twenty-five
The north wind had just enough strength to toss Scatterheart onto a deserted beach on a far-off shore.
***
Once Hannah and Molly had made their way back to the orlop deck, Hannah’s composure left her, and she began to shake with cold and terror. The expression on the doctor’s face as he was snatched overboard appeared every time she closed her eyes. She imagined the water filling his mouth and nostrils and sucking him down.
Molly was quiet, clinging to Hannah. They waited for the cry to go up when it was discovered that the doctor was no longer on board. Had they been seen on the forecastle? Had there really been someone watching from the poop deck? She would probably be hanged for killing an officer. She trembled, until finally her body gave in to its exhaustion and she slipped into a troubled sleep.
Hannah woke the next morning to a strange stillness. The ship was almost motionless. It was quiet. The other women were muttering to each other, their faces serious. Molly was standing with them, but when she saw that Hannah was awake, she came over.
‘One of the officers is dea
d,’ she said. ‘The little one who is smaller than me.’
‘Bracegirdle?’ said Hannah.
Molly nodded. ‘Something wasn’t tied up that was supposed to be. It rolled across the deck in the storm and squished him.’
‘What about Dr Ullathorne?’ said Hannah, quietly. ‘Has anyone mentioned him?’
Molly nodded again. ‘Someone went down to get a bandage and he wasn’t there. They’re sayin’ he fell overboard.’
Hannah closed her eyes. It was over. He was gone.
‘We have to go upstairs,’ said Molly. ‘For the funeral.’
All the ship’s inhabitants assembled on the upper deck before breakfast. The officers wore their formal uniforms, and the sailors had all donned hats. Captain Gartside stood by the starboard rail, holding a Bible. He was wearing his full captain’s uniform. Next to him, two wooden planks were suspended over the ocean, each end held a sailor.
One plank bore the body of Bracegirdle, sewn into his hammock. Hannah heard Patty say that the final stitch was through the dead sailor’s nose, to make sure he was really dead. The canvas hammock was weighted down with two cannonballs, so that the body would sink. A red ensign flag was draped over the canvas parcel.
The second plank bore a hemp wreath, as Dr Ullathorne’s body had not been recovered from the ocean. Another red flag was folded on top of it.
The ship had been stopped, and bobbed gently in the water. The red and blue flags all flew at half-mast.
Captain Gartside nodded at the bosun, who cupped a hand around his mouth to yell.
‘Ship’s company, off hats!’
The officers and sailors removed their hats. The women bowed their heads and clasped their hands.
Captain Gartside looked down at the Bible and started to read aloud.
‘I will take heed to my ways,’ he said. ‘That I offend not in my tongue. I will keep my mouth as it were with a bridle. I held my tongue, and spake nothing. My heart was hot within me, and while I was thus musing, the fire kindled.’
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