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CHAPTER 14
Barton Cottage,
Dorsetshire
Dear Mrs. Dashwood,
We are making
good time on our unexpected trip to Madeira. I know when last
I wrote to you I said we were for Bermuda, and that remains our
ultimate destination. We are to deliver a passenger to his ship;
we shan't lose but a ten-day; a fortnight at the most. If Miss
Dashwood cannot find the island, it is off the coast of Africa.
But I should not doubt that lady's skill with an atlas. Forgive
me…
…Doctor
Maturin is from Dorset - near Woolcombe, where Captain Aubrey's
family resides. I do not know if you are acquainted with either
family, or are aware of the very great tragedy that has befallen
them of late…
…Mrs. Wentworth
now sails with us; and a finer lady you could not find. She adds
a sense of respectability aboard ship, one that is quite to my
liking. I am now of the opinion that all captains should sail
with their wives, if that be the ladies' wish…
We have seen
no enemy so far. There was one ship…
I must close
for now, but know my thoughts, when I can pull them from my duties,
fly to my friends in Dorsetshire.
Your obt. servant,
WM PRICE
HMS LACONIA - at sea
A troubled Wentworth
made his way to the orlop, his mind preoccupied by the person
held captive there. This was his first visit to where Pyke was
held in chains since the scoundrel's flogging and he was not
pleased by what he observed. Actually, the smell was his first
clue.
"Corporal!"
he shouted at the Marine guard. "What is the meaning of
this?"
"Captain Wentworth!
I…I…"
Wentworth was revolted
by the sight before him. Pyke, chained by his feet to one of
the braces against the hull, was sitting in his own urine and
excrement. "How can it be that this man is allowed to be
held in this condition? Explain yourself, sir!"
"Sir, we…we
bring him to the heads twice a day…but sometimes…he…
Oh, Sir, there is the chamber pot…"
"Yes - rolling
around on the deck! Someone has not done their duty! Corporal,
you will find Lt. Greengard and bring him here directly!"
Minutes later a white-faced lieutenant of Marines was rushing
down the stairs, a nervous corporal in his wake. "Lt. Greengard,
I would ask you to explain this?" Wentworth pointed at the
unfortunate.
There was no excuse,
and Greengard said so.
"Mr. Greengard,
I can not say what the custom is on other ships as regards to
prisoners, but on any ship where I stride the quarterdeck no
man shall be subjected to such treatment! Not only is it unhealthy
for the rest of the crew, but it is beneath the dignity of a
Christian gentleman to allow this abomination. Or do you have
a different opinion, sir?"
"Of course
not, Sir. If I had known…"
"You would
have known had you inspected your charge!"
"Yes, Sir.
Sorry, sir. You are correct, sir - I have been derelict in my
duty."
"Yes, yes -
you are very right…" Wentworth's rage began to abate.
"Obviously, not all of the men assigned to this duty have
taken the time to escort the prisoner to the heads. You will
see to it that the guards are properly instructed on what is
expected of them."
"Yes Sir. And
I shall see that those men are detailed to cleaning this mess."
"Excellent,
Greengard - a suitable punishment." He patted the officer
on the shoulder. "I trust you will see to their…adjustment
in attitude?"
"Consider it
done, Sir."
Wentworth nodded
in dismissal. As the Marine officer left to unloose his umbrage
at the derelict guards the captain gazed at the miserable prisoner
with renewed anxiety. What am I to do with you, Pyke?
Within a day or two the Laconia would be in Funchal and
there he had a decision to make. He should turn the man over
to the tender mercies of the Port Admiral and lodge charges.
That would begin the process that would end in a court-martial
and Pyke's execution. The man's destruction did not pain him
- it was his profession to kill and maim the King's enemies and
the man was responsible for his folly. But Anne would be called
upon to give an affidavit, and his officers and men would have
to give testimony. Such an investigation and hearing could not
take place in less than eight and forty hours - time wasted instead
of cracking on to his posting. Assuming, of course, that enough
ships were in harbor to seat a court-martial.
If there were not
enough other post-captains or if time was of the essence, he
would have to transport the creature to meet his fate in Bermuda.
That solution was hardly better; in fact it would certainly cause
more pain to his wife. As difficult as it would be to offer up
an affidavit in Madeira, where she was unknown, to do likewise
in Bermuda, where she was expected to keep house and enter society,
would be mortifying to the extreme. Everyone on the island would
know of the attack. How could Anne bear it?
The other choice
would be to release Pyke - not charge him - and remove him from
the ship in Madeira. He could have him rowed ashore upon a grating
- the seaman's way of dismissing an unfit man. That and a private
word with the Port Admiral could ensure that Pyke would not be
able to secure passage aboard any British ship - Royal Navy or
merchantman. He would be effectively marooned upon the Portuguese
island, with no money or understanding of the native tongue.
But Pyke had revealed
himself to be an unredeemable villain. Could Wentworth, as a
Christian gentleman, inflict such a man on the innocent people
of Madeira?
But to try him -
he would certainly be executed if - nay, when found guilty.
How would Anne bear that? She had told him that he must do as
duty requires, yet… Wentworth had seen the anguish in her
eyes.
Oh, what to do
with you, Pyke? It would have been better had you died - No!
I shall not go down that road again! I must do as duty requires.
Damn it.
Minutes later, Wentworth
found himself just outside of the Sick Bay. He could see Anne,
in her hanging chair, reading Wordsworth to the patients. Even
with her injury - the eye was more of a sickly yellow-green now
- she appeared as an angel to his eyes. And to others.
"Ah, Radle,
good morning."
"Thankee, Cap'n.
The missus; she looks in fine form this mornin', she does."
"She is well,
thank you sir. If you would excuse me…" Wentworth left
the sailor and entered the room. Also in attendance were the
loblolly boy and Anne's Marine escort.
"Captain Wentworth;
what an unexpected pleasure," Anne said.
"Please do
not let me interrupt you, madam."
"I was just
preparing to read this last poem: By the Sea."
"Ah; a favorite
of mine. May I?
"It is a
beauteous evening, calm and free;
The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquility;
The gentleness
of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder - everlastingly.
Dear child! dear
girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in
Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not."
"Excellent,
sir. I had not known you to favor Wordsworth, as he has been
called a radical and scoundrel by more than one person."
"True enough
- his political opinions I cannot like, but I do not deny the
fineness of some of his writings." Frederick spoke for a
while with the other patient before turning to Utley. "How
are you doing there, Utley?"
"Doin' better,
sir. Doctor says I should be back on me leg by next week."
"Good, good
- Radle misses you, I think." There was a cough from the
other side of the wall. Wentworth grinned. "He's just outside."
"Ah, that reminds
me," said Anne. She presented Utley with one of her Champion
ribbons.
"But ma'am
- I did nothin' to deserve this."
"Are you not
a member of the Number 26 gun crew?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"All members
of that gun crew wear my colors, sir."
Utley held the scrap
of ribbon like it was a part of the Crown Jewels. "And I
will - with your permission, sir." Wentworth nodded, his
eyes gleaming with pride. "Thankee, ma'am."
"It was an
honor, Mr. Utley. Captain Wentworth, where are you to next?"
"I was to continue
my inspection of the ship, madam."
"May I be permitted
to accompany you, sir?"
"I should like
it of all things. It would not be too wearying, do you think?"
"No - I believe
I shall manage." Her eyes finished her statement: As long
as you are with me, my love.
The small smile
in Frederick's lips showed he perfectly understood his wife.
"Very well, then. Men - carry on." As the two left
the Sick Bay, Wentworth nodded to Radle, who took his place in
the room.
"Lookee here,
Radle," cried Utley, holding up his ribbon. "Isn't
it fine?"
"Indeed."
There were tears
in the injured man's eyes. "She gave it to me with her own
hands. Said I was one o' her Champions… There's no finer
lady in th' world!"
The emotion in his
messmate's face hardened Radle's heart to his intended task.
At the first opportunity, he had a few quiet words with the loblolly
boy.
Anne followed her
husband, walking two steps behind him as she had observed others
doing, her Marine escort falling in with her. The numbers of
eyes upon her began to distress her. A nameless fear rose in
her throat. She started to shiver when she felt a reassuring
hand upon her arm.
"Mrs. Wentworth?"
her husband asked. "Are you well?" Can you do this,
my love?
"I find it
a little close in here, I must admit, but I will manage tolerably
well." I must try, Frederick.
"Very well.
I believe I am finished here, in any case. Shall we go up to
the gun deck?" The more open spaces above served to ease
Anne's nerves. She followed as Frederick inspected each and every
gun on the deck, giving praise where earned and requests for
improvement where warranted. Mr. Dawsey wrote down his captain's
comments as the party moved from station to station. Finally
they were before the Number 26 gun. "There seems to be a
name change here, Dawsey."
"Yes sir."
Anne looked carefully
at the cannon. Sure enough, the name "Thunderbolt"
had a score run through it, and carved above was "Lady Anne."
"Sir! Is this gun named for me?"
"It appears
so." Wentworth was grinning.
"Are you displeased?"
asked Dawsey.
"No… I
am just… Forgive me, but I have never had anything named
for me before." Especially a cannon! "I am honored,
I assure you. Pray thank the gun crew for me."
The party made its
way to the companionway and was soon on the upper deck. Wentworth
moved along the gangway to the forecastle, Dawsey, Anne and her
guard trailing behind. It was cloudy and the sky threatened rain.
While Wentworth was mildly berating a sailor for the un-naval
way he had secured a halliard, Anne whispered a request to her
guard. Assuring him that Mr. Dawsey and Captain Wentworth's presence
was protection enough, the Marine scampered below decks.
By the time Wentworth
turned to his wife again, he saw that the guard had brought a
bundle to her. "And what do we have here?" he asked
in a good natured manner.
Anne smiled. "'Tis
for you, sir." With that she whipped out his weather cloak
and fashioned it about his shoulders. It did not go unnoticed
that she took her time securing the garment, stroking his shoulders
and arms to confirm the fit. Wentworth was caught between embarrassment
and delight.
"Shall you
manage if it rains, Mrs. Wentworth?" Thank you, my love.
"My own cloak
shall keep me dry, I should think." I do not wish to
leave you.
Anne was to learn
a sad lesson that day. Rain back in Somerset was often light
and delightful. At sea, the wind blew the drops everywhere not
protected, and sometimes where it was covered. It was not long
after the rain commenced that Anne had to retreat from her bench
to the comforts of the cabin below.
"Forgive me,
my dear - the rain has utterly defeated me."
Frederick could
not help himself. He took Anne's hand and raised it to his lips.
"Until dinner, my dear."
The crew knew better
than to repeat the response of before - the last time the lady
showed her partiality for the captain. They kept their wolf-whistles
to themselves, but they did not hide the grins on their faces.
Kellynch Hall,
Somerset
My dear Sophy,
Frederick and
I both send our love to you and the Admiral. We hope this letter
finds you both in as good health as your brother and I enjoy.
Sea life is certainly
interesting. How different my existence is now. I rise to the
sound of bells and holystones (I shall be revenged upon you for
leaving that out, my dear sister!) Salt water for my bath. Burgoo
and hard-tack. The most delightful pianoforte (thank you, my
dear, dear Sophy). But I embrace it all, for I am with my husband.
I must say, you
have given me excellent advice. I had not realized what responsibilities
rested on a ship captain's shoulders. My esteem for him grows
daily - how has he managed to carry on without someone to ease
his cares? I do what I can, and he is grateful. I do not pretend
that I am yet the good sea-wife Frederick requires, but I strive
to be, for I wish to be nowhere else…
You may be surprised
that this letter is sent on the Madeira packet. We have the most
interesting passenger aboard - a Doctor Maturin. The poor man
is recently widowed from Dorset. We are returning him to his
ship - he sails with Captain Aubrey, who is Commodore of a squadron,
I am told. Are you and the Admiral acquainted with Aubrey? His
friend, though melancholy, has been exceedingly kind. I wish
we could help him bear his burdens. After touching at Port Funchal
we shall make for Bermuda and my new home. It is all delightful
- I shall finally have a house of my own.
My only sorrow
shall be that you and the dear Admiral shall never see it, but
such is the fate of traveling over the seas.
Now, I must ask
you, sister - have you ever been declared "Queen of the
Barky"? Is this a usual thing? Is there any special way
I should respond? I should like to know…
The inclement weather
passed by the time of the Dog Watches. Anne was reading at her
usual bench during the Second Dog, a lamp hung nearby, when she
noticed a short, thin figure against the lee railing.
"Dr. Maturin?"
Stephen looked around
at the sound of his name. "Good evening, Mrs. Wentworth."
"Good evening
to you, sir." She saw he was troubled. "Would you care
for some company?"
The man thought
for a moment and was about to decline, but surprised himself
by saying, "That would be very welcome." He walked
over and joined Anne on the bench. "How are you feeling
today, Mrs. Wentworth? I have not seen you before now."
"I am well,
Doctor. My eye hurts not at all."
"That is well.
The remaining discoloration, while objectionable, is quite normal.
I am very pleased with your progress."
"Thank you,
Doctor." The two sat in silence for a while. Finally Anne
spoke again. "Doctor, you were not at dinner today. Are
you well?"
"Never better,
Mrs. Wentworth."
Anne narrowed her
eyes. She was well aware that the doctor's melancholy had increased.
She should accept his assurances and say no more, but she felt
that she owed so much of her current happiness to Dr. Maturin.
"Dr. Maturin, forgive me if I say too much, but I must disagree
with you. You may be well in body, but that same cannot be said
for your spirit." His head jerked and turned away. Anne
pressed on, touching his hand. "Will you not share your
troubles? I find it helps me. But I do not wish to intrude, if
you find my concern painful."
Stephen was conflicted.
He was never one to share his innermost thoughts - it was why
he was such a good diplomat and spy. But, for one of the very
few times in his life, the urge to share his anguish was overwhelming.
"I…I do not wish to burden you…" he began.
Wentworth was coming
up the companionway when he saw Anne in deep conversation with
Dr. Maturin. He was irritated by a twinge of jealousy, and began
to berate himself for it, when he saw Anne reach over to touch
Maturin's hand. His ugly orange beast roared to full life within
and Frederick found himself struggling not to rush over and strike
the man. The sensible part of him was saying, over and over,
Trust your wife. There was only one way he could deal
with his raging feelings. Frederick retreated to the great cabin.
"It would be
no burden, my dear doctor. We have all known pain. I lost my
most excellent mother when I was very young. My godmother did
her best to step into her stead, but it was not the same. I have
not lost a spouse, but the pain must be unendurable. Only losing
a child could be worse, I should think."
Stephen shuddered
to think of what could have been - if Brigid had been in the
carriage…
"Your daughter
- she is well-cared for, you said?"
"Oh, yes. I
am blessed that Mrs. Aubrey and Mrs. Oakes are there to care
and…yes, to love her. I have no worries there."
"Can you tell
me of your wife, Doctor?"
Diana? How can
I describe the Moon - both beautiful and unreachable? "She was the most beautiful woman
I had ever known. I do not know how Providence could have smiled
so upon me that she would accept my suit. I was a poor excuse
for a husband…always gone on my sea-trips."
"You loved
her very much?"
He nodded.
"She missed
you, I am sure."
Did she? There
were always rumors…
Yet when he did come home, she enveloped him with her attentions,
put up with his eccentricities… And when he left, she became
the stoic sailor's wife, looking to all of his needs, overseeing
the packing, pulling from lessons she learned as a General's
daughter. Perhaps their love was so intense it could only survive
in short interludes, as to prevent it burning out. Or perhaps
Diana could only love what was in front of her. He did not know.
"I am sure of it."
"I recall a
conversation I had not long ago with an acquaintance of mine
of the nautical persuasion. We compared the devotion of men against
women."
"And what was
the conclusion?"
She smiled. "We
were forced to agree to disagree. We both had good arguments
on our sides, and could readily concede each other's points.
It came to this. I believe men capable of everything great and
good in your married lives. I believe you equal to every important
exertion, and to every domestic forbearance, so long as - if
I may be allowed the expression, so long as you have an object.
I mean while the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All
the privilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable
one: you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when
existence or when hope is gone."
"Do you think
so? Do you think men recover from such pain faster than women?"
"For proof
I use the example of another acquaintance of mine - another seafarer.
He was in love with a most lovely and deserving lady - was engaged,
in fact. Unfortunately, while he was away, she became sick and
passed beyond. He was devastated - swore he should never love
again. His friends feared a permanent decline.
"But a couple
of years later, through extraordinary circumstances I am not
at liberty to relate, he found himself attached to an equally
delightful young lady. They are even now preparing for their
wedding."
"Extraordinary."
"Is not life
extraordinary, Doctor?"
"But women
do not recover as quickly?"
"If the lady
was truly attached, she will certainly pine longer - perhaps
for the rest of her life."
Truly attached
- was Christine Wood truly attached to the Governor?
Wentworth prowled
the cabin like a great cat - the two sides of his character at
war with each other. Gradually he began to notice voices coming
from above. He looked up and saw that the small skylight in the
upper deck breams was open. He could clearly hear what was being
said. Against his better judgment, he grew closer to the skylight.
"You are thinking
of something, Doctor?"
"I recalled
another recent tragedy to my mind - Governor Wood of Sierra Leone
has recently died. I counted both he and his wife as among my
acquaintances. I think of the pain she must be experiencing."
"I am sure
she feels it acutely."
Does she? "I am sure you are right."
This Mrs. Wood
is more than you say, Doctor. Is she your path to happiness? "Life has many mysteries, Doctor.
We must be patient and allow Providence to work its plan with
us."
"You speak
as if there is hope for all of us."
"Does not Our
Savior say so?"
"Indeed, as
does our Blessed Lady."
"Then we must
trust to Providence. I have and have been well recompensed."
The possibilities
swam in Stephen's brain. "Oh, Mrs. Wentworth! Do you think
so? Is there hope? Have I any chance of succeeding?"
"Oh, Mrs.
Wentworth! Do you think so? Is there hope? Have I any chance
of succeeding?"
Maturin's words
tore through Frederick's heart. Say no, Anne! Say no! Do not
kill me!
"I believe
that there is. My reward is the master of this ship," said
Anne.
"I believe
you. Oh, my dear, thank you for your counsel. Like a sister you
have been to me."
Frederick's mind
reeled again. Sister? Did he say sister? And Anne: "the
master of this ship" is her reward? In that moment Frederick's
noble soul beat down the beast of envy. Never again would he
mistrust his wife. With that he hurried out of the cabin.
"But the wait
can be long. Mine was eight-and-a-half years."
"That is patience
indeed. But the reward is sweeter?"
"I have no
cause to repine."
"Truly you
have been blessed."
"And you will
be too, my dear Doctor." She patted his hand.
"With the blessing.
Ah, Captain Wentworth. Good evening."
"Good evening
sir! Good evening, my dear. Please do not get up. Enjoying the
air, I dare say."
"'Tis the joy
of sailing, to enjoy the fresh evening breeze. That and good
conversation," said Stephen.
"Then I am
intruding; forgive me."
"No, I must
return to my cabin. Thank you for a most enlightening conversation,
Mrs. Wentworth."
"Doctor,"
said Frederick, "will you not sup with us?"
Stephen searched
Wentworth's eye, but saw only kindness. "From the bottom
of my heart I thank you, but I shall retire early tonight."
"God bless
you, Doctor," said Anne. The two watched as the physician
made his way below decks. "I feel for him, Frederick. Life
has been so hard."
Frederick kissed
her hand. "You are too good, my dear. I do not know what
I have done to deserve you."
"Frederick,
this is too much! What have I done to deserve such merit?"
"For being
Anne. Come, let us go down together."
The Marine was never
so bored in his life. It was late at night as he half-stood,
half-leaned against the ladder leading up from the orlop to the
mess deck, guarding the prisoner Pyke. Earlier in the day he
had to weather the anger of his commanding officer, who had berated
the entire detail for allowing Pyke to soil himself. He himself
was assigned with a crew to wash down the man while the others
cleaned the deck. It was a stinking, dirty job - hardly fit for
Marines. He could not understand the concern for the bastard.
He was for the rope sure once they got to Madeira. But orders
were orders.
Hearing a noise
from above, he assumed a more proper stance. "'Tis alright,
there," a voice said. It was his friend Radle, carrying
a cup. "Sorry duty, guarding this lot," he nodded towards
the sleeping Pyke as he descended.
"Too right,
there."
Radle took a sniff.
"Why, it smells a bit fresher down here. Been doin' any
work, have you?"
The guard grunted.
"He'll be bright and shiny for the hangman."
Radle shook his
head. "Shame - hate to see any seaman dancin' at the end
of a yardarm - even him. He's a messmate, you know." He
held up the cup. "Could you use o' bit of warmth, mate?"
The guard's eyes
grew wide. "Where'd you get the grog?"
"You been to
sea as long as me, you learn a few things."
The guard licked
his lips. "I could use a bit of a drink, sure." Radle
gave him the cup. "What about you? You got more?"
Radle chuckled.
"I got better than that, don't you worry, mate. Well, I
best be getting' back up on deck. You have a good night, now."
The Marine took
a swallow and grimaced. "Water's gettin' old already. But
she'll do - thankee, Radle"
Once Radle got back
to the mess deck, he quietly made his way to his messmates "working"
near the bulkhead. Several minutes passed before he whispered,
"All right, lads; stout hearts is what's needed. Are you
with me? If not, stand aside and none will gainsay you."
Eades looked at
Lauck. "We're with you, Radle. Only - are ye certain that
draught will work? It would be awkward indeed if the guard returns…"
Radle chuckled.
The laxative he had secured from the loblolly boy and had placed
into the cup of grog would make certain that the Marine would
be at the seat of ease at the heads for no little time. "He'll
be gone for a quarter-hour at least, if not… Hold! There
he goes! Now's the time! Quick hands and no quarter!"
The men stole their
way silently down the ladder into the orlop. Mrs. Wentworth's
Champions had one more service to perform for their lady.
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