“Surely we’re not meant to be so far north on entry.”
“That’s what Mr Veitch’s instructions say.”
“We will follow Drury’s chart,” the commodore declared, and he marched away as though he wanted nothing more to do with the discussion. The master looked after him, a little startled; then saw me watching him and scowled, so I averted my eyes.
Not many men had overhead the conversation on the bridge and, if they did, they were not about to say anything against their commodore. The men on the deck appeared calm, as were the men hanging on the yardarms, their feet on the footrope below the spar, knowing that land was in sight and within an hour they would be safe within the harbour. For my own part, I dreaded entering the harbour, as soon afterwards my fate would be decided.
“Yes, Mr Mallock,” I heard Mr Strong say and I noticed a midshipman standing to my right, just underneath the bridge.
“My compliments, Mr Strong, but Mr Oliert reports that the signals are telling us to veer north.”
“Thank you, Mr Mallock,” the master said as he turned to the commodore. “A veer to the north brings us in line with Veitch’s instructions,” he said triumphantly. “I advise a change of course, sir!”
The commodore conferred with the commander, a conversation I could not overhear. At length he sighed. “Very well, sir, we shall follow Mr Veitch’s instructions.”
Orders were relayed to the helmsmen who turned the helm to starboard to bring her head around to port. Men on the sails adjusted them as the yardarms swung on the masts and the ship settled down into her new course. I could not see anything from my position on the deck, just the blue sky above me with the white clouds scudding across it. A single seagull weaved overhead and I drank in the sight. I could feel the swells beneath the ship, making her rise slowly and driving her forward, while the sun shone down brightly from above. I could smell the saltiness of the air and the tar on the ropes around me. In the rigging the wind whistled, making it hum eerily while the seagull above me let out a haunting cry as if calling to the dead. The officers above me went silent, as if they were holding their breath as we approached the bar.
I did not hold mine. I breathed in deeply, enjoying the taste of brine on my tongue and hoping that my punishment was not going to be as severe as Lieutenant Amphlett had led me to believe. Maybe the commodore would spare me if I convinced him to find my aunt – but would they give me that chance? I had no way of knowing. I was a stowaway, unwanted and unwelcome. A burden. What’s more, I had stolen from the commodore’s cabin. Would they hang me first and ask questions later? I closed my eyes and I prayed that they would not.
1.30pm
I opened my eyes at a slight jolt as the ship slowed sharply. The commodore called out an order and the engine room boy ran forward, repeating the shouted order down the companionway; I could faintly hear the message being repeated again down the engine room ladder. The vibrating increased as the engines beneath us throbbed with power.
Up forward, Fred was talking to the First Lieutenant, Mr Mudge. From his gestures I saw that he was very excited but I did not know why. Maybe he was pleading for my life, but it was too early for that. Mr Mudge waved Fred back to the forecastle but the men around him pushed him forward, and he walked past the lieutenant and approached the bridge quickly.
“Excuse me, sir, but we’re on the wrong course.” His words had been directed to Mr Strong, the master.
“What say you?” said Mr Strong, puffing out his chest.
“Sir, I’ve crossed the bar in the Harrier . The course is further north. We have to change course, sir, immediately, sir.”
A marine came up to take Fred back to the forecastle but Mr Strong waved him away while the commodore came to stand alongside Mr Strong. He looked down at Fred, his expression serious. “What was
“That’s what Mr Veitch’s instructions say.”
“We will follow Drury’s chart,” the commodore declared, and he marched away as though he wanted nothing more to do with the discussion. The master looked after him, a little startled; then saw me watching him and scowled, so I averted my eyes.
Not many men had overhead the conversation on the bridge and, if they did, they were not about to say anything against their commodore. The men on the deck appeared calm, as were the men hanging on the yardarms, their feet on the footrope below the spar, knowing that land was in sight and within an hour they would be safe within the harbour. For my own part, I dreaded entering the harbour, as soon afterwards my fate would be decided.
“Yes, Mr Mallock,” I heard Mr Strong say and I noticed a midshipman standing to my right, just underneath the bridge.
“My compliments, Mr Strong, but Mr Oliert reports that the signals are telling us to veer north.”
“Thank you, Mr Mallock,” the master said as he turned to the commodore. “A veer to the north brings us in line with Veitch’s instructions,” he said triumphantly. “I advise a change of course, sir!”
The commodore conferred with the commander, a conversation I could not overhear. At length he sighed. “Very well, sir, we shall follow Mr Veitch’s instructions.”
Orders were relayed to the helmsmen who turned the helm to starboard to bring her head around to port. Men on the sails adjusted them as the yardarms swung on the masts and the ship settled down into her new course. I could not see anything from my position on the deck, just the blue sky above me with the white clouds scudding across it. A single seagull weaved overhead and I drank in the sight. I could feel the swells beneath the ship, making her rise slowly and driving her forward, while the sun shone down brightly from above. I could smell the saltiness of the air and the tar on the ropes around me. In the rigging the wind whistled, making it hum eerily while the seagull above me let out a haunting cry as if calling to the dead. The officers above me went silent, as if they were holding their breath as we approached the bar.
I did not hold mine. I breathed in deeply, enjoying the taste of brine on my tongue and hoping that my punishment was not going to be as severe as Lieutenant Amphlett had led me to believe. Maybe the commodore would spare me if I convinced him to find my aunt – but would they give me that chance? I had no way of knowing. I was a stowaway, unwanted and unwelcome. A burden. What’s more, I had stolen from the commodore’s cabin. Would they hang me first and ask questions later? I closed my eyes and I prayed that they would not.
1.30pm
I opened my eyes at a slight jolt as the ship slowed sharply. The commodore called out an order and the engine room boy ran forward, repeating the shouted order down the companionway; I could faintly hear the message being repeated again down the engine room ladder. The vibrating increased as the engines beneath us throbbed with power.
Up forward, Fred was talking to the First Lieutenant, Mr Mudge. From his gestures I saw that he was very excited but I did not know why. Maybe he was pleading for my life, but it was too early for that. Mr Mudge waved Fred back to the forecastle but the men around him pushed him forward, and he walked past the lieutenant and approached the bridge quickly.
“Excuse me, sir, but we’re on the wrong course.” His words had been directed to Mr Strong, the master.
“What say you?” said Mr Strong, puffing out his chest.
“Sir, I’ve crossed the bar in the Harrier . The course is further north. We have to change course, sir, immediately, sir.”
A marine came up to take Fred back to the forecastle but Mr Strong waved him away while the commodore came to stand alongside Mr Strong. He looked down at Fred, his expression serious. “What was
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