Home was exactly as I remembered it. My mother stood waiting by the door and ran up the garden path to embrace me. Enfolded in her arms I felt as if I were nine years old, giving her a hug as I came home from school. It was good to feel that safe again.
‘Let me look at you,’ she said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Last time we met … I thought we’d never see you again. It’s like you’ve come back from the dead.’ For an instant I was transported back to the deck of the prison hulk at Portsmouth and remembered the precious ring she’d given me then. I still carried it round my neck and returned it with a proud flourish.
I ran around the house, looking in every room, vaulting up the stairs three at a time, to remind myself of life before I went to sea. The smell of the place – the earthy whiff of vegetables in the shop at the front of the house, my mother’s cooking, the furniture polish, and the roaring fire, all took me back to boyhood.
It had been nearly four years since I last stood in this house. So much had changed in my life, yet everything here remained the same. Even the china figurines of the young lady with her ball gown and parasol and the young buck with his musket and hunting dog were in exactly the same spot.
‘What took you so long to come back and see us, Sam?’ my mother asked after the initial flurry of our greeting.
‘Harriet, don’t chide the boy as soon as he’s home,’ said my father.
I heard a clucking out in the yard and rushed out to see the chickens. ‘William got had by a fox,’ said my father. Mary and Matilda scurried away from me. I was a stranger now.
We ate a succulent beef joint, with thick onion gravy and potatoes and cabbage. My father opened a bottle of wine too – a French claret that must have cost him half a week’s takings. ‘Well you’ve certainly learned how to drink,’ he said with some disapproval, as I guzzled it down. ‘Better make that last, Sam. There’s no more in the house.’
That evening we sat around the fire, and I talked long into the night. There was so much to tell them. Tom grew bored. He wasn’t interested in New South Wales, or Sumatra, or even London.
‘There’s nothing there that would tempt me away from Norfolk,’ he said with a weary sigh and went up to bed.
After he’d gone my father said, ‘Funny how two boys can be so different.’
‘Thank heaven,’ said my mother. ‘I couldn’t bear to have both my lads away from me all the time. How long you staying for, Sam?’
‘I’d like to see in the spring, maybe even the summer, if there’s enough for me to do,’ I said. ‘That is, if you won’t mind having me in the house?’
‘Stay as long as you like, Sam,’ said my father with a big smile. ‘You know we want you to stay here in Norfolk. I’m sure a lad like you will find profitable employment.’
I didn’t want to talk about what I might be doing in the future. I didn’t even know myself. So I finally asked the question I had been dying to raise all evening. ‘And how are the Hookes? Any news of Rosie.’
They exchanged uneasy glances. ‘She cried for months when you were transported,’ said my mother. ‘Mrs Hooke told me she got terribly thin. And there wasn’t much of her in the first place. We haven’t seen her for a couple of years. But six months ago Mr Hooke came by. Tells us she’s doing well. She has a job as a nursery governess for a local family. Very grand they are. One of their footmen’s taken a shine to her. I hear she’s engaged to be wed. Mr Hooke says he’s a good lad. Got prospects. He’ll make a butler by the time he’s thirty.’
I smiled but felt a stab of regret. I still had a tender spot for Rosie. Had I been right to tell her to forget about me when I left for New South Wales? I had honestly believed I would never be coming back.
The next morning I took a long walk around the fields surrounding the village. It was a bright winter’s day and the sunshine had a warmth I had not felt for months. The trees were still bare, but a few daffodils had appeared. I was conscious of being truly alone for the first time in years. Apart from the cows, staring at me in their curious way, there was not another living thing in sight. It was a delicious feeling. After years spent crowded in a ship with scores or hundreds of other people, such solitude felt luxurious. I thought of the sour stench of the cleansing vinegar and sulphur on the Orion as we lolled adrift in the doldrums, trying to slake our thirst on warm sour water. The pump in our backyard provided the sweetest water I had ever tasted.
Whether I would remain in Norfolk or not, I did not know. For now, my parents were happy for me to stay, helping out in the shop and the school. I was enjoying the simple pleasures of being with my family again, and living without fear of death or dreadful punishment.
In the shop I noticed how well Tom dealt with his customers. ‘Got those peas in you wanted, Mrs Polgrave.’ ‘And how’s little Emma, Mrs Gage? Here’s a barley sugar to put a smile back on her face!’ He knew them all by name, and their children. The shop was doing well. I was pleased for him. We never had much in common, but Tom had obviously found his vocation.
The schoolhouse was exactly the same, save for all those new faces. I enjoyed helping my father with another generation of Williams and Toms and Elizabeths and Marys. Seeing my father at work filled me with admiration for him and reminded me where I had gained my avid curiosity. He was strict – that was a matter of self-preservation – but he was quite genuine in his determination to teach his charges.
The school room was as bright and full of interesting objects as its tiny parish fund allowed. There was a nature table with fir cones and shells and animal skulls, maps of Great Britain and the world on the wall and embroidered samplers in glass frames. Every morning he would chalk a curious riddle on his blackboard, which the children had to copy and then work out for themselves.
In wars and in battle I have ever been
Yet where there is fighting I never am seen
Nor do I in tumult or riots appear
But if there’s a rabble I’m sure to be there.
It was disappointing to discover the answer to such a curious conundrum was merely the letter A.
Our village parson, the Reverend Chatham, had donated books and instructive toys now his own children had grown up. There were puzzles, paper dolls, table games – all battered and faded, but still quite usable – and all far too expensive for the village children to own themselves. These items were almost sacred to my father – he was a strong believer in learning through play, a fanciful modern notion to some of the parents who believed only the birch could instil the rudiments of the alphabet in their children. When Italy went missing from the jigsaw of Europe, there was a grand inquisition. Nobody confessed but the piece turned up the next day.
I was asked to tell the children which countries I’d visited and they listened spellbound as I stood before the map of the world. I told them of the Barbary apes of Gibraltar, the kangaroos of New South Wales and the tigers of Sumatra. I liked to think I planted a seed in the minds of some of the boys, and they too would one day go to sea to find adventure. I spoke too, as gently as I could, about the hardship and cruelty of life in the Navy. I was determined they should be told the full story. I felt quite elated when I’d finished. ‘You’re a natural, Sam,’ said my father.
By the early summer I was beginning to feel restless. The village pub, with its earth floor and its reticent labourers, was a dreary place where nothing exciting was ever going to happen. Here in Wroxham every day was the same. At sea a hundred things could happen that were different from the day before.
The gentle pleasures of teaching were beginning to wane. I knew it was a valuable job – few people could do more for their fellows than a good teacher – but I couldn’t bear the thought of watching each batch of children go out into the world while I stayed there, season after season, year after year.
My parents took such an obvious pleasure in having me home, I did not like to think about leaving them, so I hid my restlessness and made the most of our time together. But the familiar yearning to get away t
hat had first taken me to sea when I was thirteen had returned with a vengeance.
CHAPTER 13
Adrift
I decided to see the summer through in Wroxham. Then I would return to London, and work as a merchant seaman. I could sail from Yarmouth, as I had before, but London offered the greatest opportunities and I missed the excitement of the city. I dreaded telling my parents, but they understood. ‘We’re surprised you stayed this long,’ said my father.
‘You never did seem settled,’ said my mother sadly.
The money I had made on the Orion was nearly gone, and it was time to start earning a proper living again. My father gave me a little to see me on my way ‘for helping out in the shop and school’. I felt guilty taking it but it paid for my return to London, and left me with a few weeks’ rent for lodgings.
I didn’t go back to the Nevilles’ house in Marlborough Road. Robert would have returned to sea and I did not want to have his father pressing me to rejoin the Navy. I could not bring myself to make such a fateful decision. I often dreamed of being on a man-o’-war – sometimes coming aboard a new ship, full of trepidation as the crew turned to look at me. But usually my dreams were of combat, of the awful apprehension before the guns started to fire, or being helpless and injured on an abandoned ship, or surrounded by flashing swords and axes in the terrifying whirl of hand-to-hand combat.
I took lodgings near to London Bridge, on the south side. I earned my keep making short trips on merchant ships, a fortnight here to Bristol, a week there to Newcastle.
One autumn morning, during a short stay between voyages, I strolled around a corner into Bermondsey market. Not five yards in front of me was Bel Sparke, picking apples and cherries from a barrow. She was clothed in a plain white dress with a small black belt tied tight around her waist, and a black crocheted shawl around her shoulders to keep out the chill Thames wind. She wore little black boots and a red ribbon to hold the hair away from her face.
I had thought of her often since we’d parted and for a few moments I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Then I thought to hide in the crowd. It would be awkward to talk to her. But too late! She turned and saw me.
Her face lit up, and she rushed over. ‘Hello Samuel Witchall, how’s that cockatoo of yours?’
Something in me melted. Perhaps I could forgive her a little bit.
‘Hello Bel, how’s life treating you?’
‘Not bad. Back home with my mother and father. They were surprised to see me. I’m keepin’ busy. I’m workin’ in a milliner’s shop. Managed to avoid the fish-gutting after all. Half-day closing today, got the afternoon all to myself! And you?’
We ambled through the market together, then on to the quayside, chatting as we walked. I was pleased to find her in good spirits. ‘Do you ever look at the boats and wish you were sailing off somewhere exciting?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Life’s been slow since Miss Lizzie died. Her family sent me a few guineas to tide me over while I set about finding work. Her sister said Lizzie had always spoken well of me, and that they would be happy to recommend me to a family if a position became available. I’d like to go back to being a lady’s maid – maybe do some more travelling, and meet all kinds of different people.’
‘But Bel, you can’t count on finding someone else like Lizzie,’ I said. ‘What would happen if you found yourself sailing off to America or India with someone who treated you like a dog?’
‘I’ve got a good nose for people, me,’ she said.
‘Are you hungry?’ I asked, wanting to talk to her for longer. There were several taverns right by the riverside. ‘You know it round here, which is the best?’
Sitting in a smoky room at the Green Man, on rough wooden benches as the sun streamed in through stained-glass windows, I started to feel more at ease.
‘Let me buy you a nice hot pie,’ she said, and went to the counter. But the tavern had been busy and had sold out of food. ‘Come back home, and I’ll make something to eat,’ she said. ‘I only live five minutes away.’
The Sparkes lived in a tall, narrow house close to the quayside, in a street called Cherry Lane. Like the other houses around it, it was wood and plaster rather than brick and although it was the middle of the day it was very dark inside. But it was clean, and the sparse furniture was well cared for.
There was no one at home. ‘They’re both out workin’,’ said Bel, ‘won’t be back ’til later.’ I was quite relieved. Mr and Mrs Sparke had often featured in Bel’s conversation and not always in a flattering light.
‘You sit down and I’ll find some food,’ she said.
Bel returned with bread and cheese and a couple of the apples she had just bought. ‘After all them months on a ship, I still marvel at the taste of fresh food,’ she said.
We talked long into the afternoon and all over again I fell under her spell. She had been lucky with the smallpox. Her scars had healed and took little away from her beauty. She laughed at all my jokes, and she clearly remembered little incidents on the ship between us. I began to realise I must have meant something to her after all.
As the light faded in the late afternoon, she cleared the table and said she would fetch some candles. I went over to the window to stare at the passers-by out on the busy street.
‘You best be going, Sam,’ she said. ‘My dad will be home soon, and he’s bound to think the worst of this!’
We agreed to meet again when I was next ashore. It was a promising start.
There was much work in the Merchant Navy for a sailor with a good reputation. After a week or two at sea I could come back and spend a few days in London. I saw Bel whenever I could. She was always happy to meet me, though she told me straight out that her parents disapproved of our friendship. ‘“Sailors, they have a wife in every port,” that’s what my ma says,’ Bel said to me with a giggle. ‘“Don’t wanna get mixed up with them.”
‘I told them you’re an old mate from my trip around the world and there’s no funny business goin’ on.’ She looked me straight in the eye when she said that. ‘Seemed to calm them down a bit.’
I would also regularly take the stagecoach to Norwich and my father would come and meet me with his horse and cart and we’d clip-clop back to Wroxham for a few days. Now and then I would catch up with Robert Neville when he was on leave in London. It was always a pleasure to see him, and I enjoyed hearing about life in the Royal Navy. Exciting thought it was, I didn’t miss it. He said no more about his father’s offer.
In the spring of 1805, soon after I turned eighteen, I came across a crippled merchant seaman begging in the streets close to my home. Something about the man provoked my pity and I took him to a local tavern and bought him food and ale. We talked all afternoon, and he told me of his fate – one that was shared by far too many merchant seamen. Unlike Royal Navy sailors, he explained, he could not depend on Greenwich Hospital for charity now that he had become too ill to make a living. He had to beg to keep himself alive.
For several days this preyed on my mind. It was, after all, one possible future if I stayed in the merchant service. I discussed it with Bel. ‘Maybe you need to get away from the sea, Sam,’ she said. ‘Try and get a job on the harbour-side. Maybe at the East India Docks? Maybe you could find work at Chatham, with the shipbuilders or ropemakers? Your experience at sea must be useful somewhere?’
But none of these appealed to me. I thought hard about going to Boston, to find Richard. But I knew Bel wouldn’t come with me and I didn’t want to leave her behind. I could not go on living in this aimless fashion, working on and off as it suited me. I had to do something more with my life, and what I really wanted, still, was adventure.
CHAPTER 14
My Friend the Rat
In the summer of 1805 I came back from a voyage to Newcastle to find a letter from Robert Neville. Its content left me feeling uneasy.
Hon. Robert Neville
HMS Intrepid
Cape Finesterre
20th June, 1805
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Dear Sam,
I hope this letter finds you well. It’s been a good while since we last saw each other, and I’m hoping to be home for a few weeks’ leave again in the middle of July. We must meet for a glass of wine.
No doubt you have heard reports that Napoleon has amassed some 200,000 soldiers at Boulogne, from where, I’m sure you know, you can see the cliffs at Dover. This ‘Armée d’Angleterre’, as it is known, is set to invade us. Should the Royal Navy fail to prevent their crossing the Channel I think it’s fair to say the country would fall in a matter of weeks. We both know our own army is no match for the French.
In this atmosphere of national crisis I fear greatly that the press gangs will be descending mob-handed on the ports of England to muster every available tar to man our warships. You are bound to become a victim of their activities.
Perhaps you could think again about joining the Navy? We need good men like you. Our liberty is threatened! Do consider what I’m asking and let me know. Write to Grosvenor Square and I hope to see you shortly.
Your true friend
Robert
He hadn’t mentioned his father’s offer about training to become a midshipman. Was that still on the table? The letter stirred up other feelings too. I still did not want to go back to the Navy, but I felt guilty about it now rather than defiant. My country was in peril.
The press gangs had been lying low since I returned to the sea. Now they were sure to be busy. Although I knew this to be certain, I had heard from other merchant seamen that they were concentrating their activities on the Navy ports of Plymouth and Portsmouth, and along the south coast.
So why didn’t I write back at once saying I would join up with him? I intended to, but three days hence I was to sail to Edinburgh with Thomas Findlay, a captain who was reputed to pay handsomely and treat his men well. I’d heard he was looking for a third mate for his ship and I wanted to impress him. And when I came back Bel had promised to meet me. I had not seen her for several weeks and had missed her keenly. I resolved to contact Robert when I returned. I would put off my decision until then.
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