High Sea

  High Sea

  High Sea

  Midpoint

  ~HIGH SEA~

  By Catherine E. Chapman

  Published by Catherine E. Chapman at Smashwords

  Copyright 2015 Catherine E. Chapman

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  Also by the author

  All the Trimmings

  Braggot Park

  Brizecombe Hall

  Clifton

  Collected Romances

  Danburgh Castle

  Elizabeth Clansham

  Kitty

  Opening Night

  Rhiannon

  The Beacon Singer

  The Family Tree

  The Hangar Dance

  The Office Party

  The Ramblers

  Three Medieval Romances

  Three Romances

  HIGH SEA

  Why did I leave the secure position I held as seamstress in the employ of the kindly Mrs Rush? What possessed me to use my skills to fashion myself a shirt, a pair of breeches, a jacket and flat cap? Why did I ever think I could pass for a boy and take to the high sea?

  The answer is simple: adventure. I could claim poverty as my motivation but, as I’ve told you, I had a generous employer who lodged me in her own home, in addition to paying me a fair wage. And, whilst my style of life and aspirations in the city were modest, my situation wasn’t precarious, not even when my mother –my only remaining close relation– passed away. The skills I had convinced me that, even if Mrs Rush ceased to require my services, her recommendation would ensure that I could secure another post.

  But I chose to trade my security for the uncertainty of venturing abroad, bound for the New World. I wanted to see more than the land I had been born into. And, having very little money saved, nor the prospect of saving much more in the future, I decided that the risk of becoming a stow-away was one worth taking.

  I determined that my disguise would make it easier for me to go unnoticed. A boy loitering on the quayside is a more common sight than a girl. And, being of slender frame, I knew that if I cropped my hair short and checked my mannerisms, I could carry off the deceit.

  So it was that, upon a fine morning in a year in the reign of our good Queen Victoria, having bade farewell to Mrs Rush and my few friends in the city, telling them that I was going to live with an Aunt in the South-East, I repaired to an inn where, in a room over the tavern, I undertook my disguise. I entered that establishment a demure maid and left it a street-wise boy, ready for any challenge that faced me. I headed for the docks and kept my sights fixed on my greater goal: Liberty; but I wasn’t bound for America, oh no, my sights were set further afield: the ship I intended to board was destined to sail to Australia.

  * * *

  It wasn’t hard, small and slight as I was, to gain access aboard the ship. I concealed myself between containers on the dockside until I managed to slither beneath a tarpaulin covering foodstuffs that were to be loaded onboard. I remember the sensation of being suspended mid-air –terrifying as I knew what was happening but, all the while, the gentle sway so soothing– before my palette was finally lowered onto the deck of the ship.

  When the stevedores weren’t looking, I slipped out from beneath my cover and went below deck via the first hatch I found to be open.

  The first week or so of the voyage passed without incident. Yes, it was uncomfortable and squalid to sleep in any nook and cranny I could find in steerage, amid the pervading stench of livestock, but in this way my presence on the ship went unnoticed.

  I managed to steal enough food to sustain me and began to think it quite possible I would succeed in remaining undiscovered until we reached the New World. I thought I could remain undiscovered until, that was, one fateful night.

  I was aware of cabins at the heart of the ship that were reserved for sick passengers and of the cabin adjacent to these that was occupied by the ship’s doctor, one John Seacombe. This Doctor Seacombe was a trusting soul of variable appetite who, being often on duty, regularly had food brought to his cabin, frequently left his cabin door unlocked and often left a good portion of his dinner untouched. I had on previous occasions crept into the Doctor’s cabin and stolen his unwanted victuals.

  That night, I was in the process of doing so again and had gained access to the Doctor’s quarters, when, with my back turned to the cabin door, I heard the door pushed shut.

  Turning, I beheld a tall young man of fair complexion, gazing at me in disbelief. “Whatever are you up to?” he asked, in genuine surprise rather than automatic disapproval.

  I grilled my brain to try to concoct some plausible explanation for my presence but, holding as I did, a bread roll in one hand and an apple in the other, the Doctor was quicker than me to make an assessment of the situation.

  “I take it you are not a paying passenger of this vessel, young man?” he surmised rather soberly.

  There was no point in denying it and I realised that if I tried to run away from the Doctor’s cabin, I would eventually be found again by the ship’s crew. The only alternative, jumping overboard, would mean certain death. I had no choice but to throw myself upon the mercy of Doctor Seacombe. “Dear Sir,” I began, “I am a good boy. I was forced to stow away when my mother died, leaving me orphaned. There was nothing for me in England. I am bound for the goldfields of Australia to seek my fortune.”

  “And this you will obtain by deceit and theft,” the Doctor mused dubiously.

  But, detecting the strain of goodness in his voice, I perceived some glimmer of hope. “Sir, I have abused your good nature in taking food from your cabin. And, yes, I am here through illegal means. But, Doctor, Sir, if you would let me be your helper, I would undertake the role willingly, and ask only for provisions and a safe place to sleep in return.”

  Doctor Seacombe looked steadily upon me. “I am the ship’s physician. The only help I need I already have, in the form of a suitably qualified nurse. I do not see how a boy such as yourself could aid us in our work–”

  “But Doctor, you will find me a boy of very many domestic talents and very neat and clean in my ways. I can sew – my mother saw to that–” I stopped short, fearing my revelation would betray my true gender.

  I perceived that the Doctor smiled in response to my anxious expression. “Very well, boy,” he said, “we will give you a trial as my servant and a general help about the sick cabins–”

  I exhaled relief.

  “Subject, that is,” the Doctor cautioned, “to the agreement and approval of Captain Grey, who must now be made aware of your presence onboard ship immediately.”

  The Doctor then promptly marched me to Captain Grey’s cabin. En route, in what I suspected to be an attempt to calm my shaken nerves, he asked, “And what do we call you, boy?”

  “Sam,” I replied instantly.

  “Samuel,” the Doctor affirmed. “I am Doctor John,” he then said, extending his arm about my back and resting his hand upon my shoulder, in an act of support, before he knocked upon the door of Captain Grey’s cabin.

  * * *

  Captain Grey was a far jollier individual than I could have anticipated. Whilst pretending displeasure and disapproval upon hearing of my escapade, his expression betrayed underlying amusement at my audacity. He was quick to accept the Doctor’s proposed course of action, saying, “And what do you hav
e to say to the good Doctor, young man?” (to which I, of course, replied in most humble and grateful terms), before dismissing me to undertake my duties.

  “Thank you, Doctor John. Thank you for giving me this chance,” I had said in the presence of Captain Grey. I had not been able to look the Doctor in the eye as I uttered those words, not on account of my shame over my conduct but because, already, I struggled to look into those deep blue pools without fearing my femininity would be revealed by their unnerving effect upon my whole being.

  With our plan of action agreed upon, the following morning I commenced my work aiding the good Doctor and his nurse in their daily tasks of tending ailing passengers. Despite his initial assertion that there would be little I could do, Doctor John managed to find many roles for me to fulfil. The nurse too was more than happy to have my help in keeping the sick cabins clean and tending to those confined there.

  As the days passed, my admiration for Doctor John remained undiminished. He never gave me a cross or thoughtless word. His soul, I discovered, was as pure as I had suspected on that first night when he had apprehended me in his cabin. And, as he became better acquainted with me, the Doctor’s spirit lightened and I witnessed more frequently, the flash of his warm smile and the twinkle in his blue eyes that always accompanied it.

  It would be true to say that there had been occasions when, in the employ of Mrs Rush, I had encountered gentlemen whose presence had impressed, whose looks had pleased and whose manners had charmed me, but, on my part, these encounters had never amounted to anything beyond momentary fancy. But I confess that, where Doctor John was concerned, I realised all too quickly that my affection for him was growing into something quite unlike anything I had experienced before.

  To him, of course, I was merely a cabin-boy whose presence he had the grace to tolerate with good humour.

  * * *

  Late one night when the ship was battling its way through a storm, Doctor John was called from his cabin to tend to a deck-hand who had gashed his arm whilst working on the rigging in the raging winds.

  The man was distressed, no so much from the pain of his injury but from his horror at witnessing the speed with which his lifeblood seeped from his wound, the wound extending as it did, along his inner arm from just below his elbow to his wrist.

  I helped the Doctor bring the man to the sick cabin and watched as he struggled to stitch up the bleeding gash. Unused as the Doctor was to carrying out such a task, and with his progress hindered by the long fingers of his large hands, I became frustrated, knowing that I myself would make a swifter and neater job of it than he.

  “Might I stitch the patient, Doctor?” I asked at last.

  “This requires skill, Sam,” he replied, “skill I doubt a young fellow like you will possess.”

  I urged him to let me try, explaining that I had, as a child, helped about my uncle’s cobbler’s shop and gained some experience of sewing there.

  Hesitantly, the Doctor agreed, instructing me to wash my hands thoroughly before taking up the needle.

  Within minutes the job was done, the deck-hand relieved to see the bleeding cease. “What nimble fingers you have, lad,” he’d remarked as I’d worked with swift dexterity at this new occupation.

  In response I’d found myself breaking into a smile I could ill afford to indulge in, given my present company and the pretence I had to maintain.

  When the deck-hand had been helped into a bunk to rest and recover from his ordeal and when we had tidied up from our operations, I repaired to the Doctor’s cabin, urged by him to take a nip of brandy before we too attempted to rest for the night amid the persistent storm.

  “The winds abate, Sam,” he said as we entered his confined quarters, the ship still listing but no so markedly as it had done an hour before.

  I watched nervously as Doctor John poured two measures of brandy into crystal tumblers from a decanter of the same style of glass.

  “We’ll drink to you, Sam,” he said, handing me a tumbler. “Here’s to your calm disposition and your dextrous hands,” and with that he downed his measure of brandy in one draught.

  I looked at the golden-brown liquid in the glass I held.

  “What’s the matter, Sam?” Doctor John asked.

  “I do not drink, Sir,” I replied.

  The Doctor laughed. “A young fellow like you – have you no desire to taste it? It is good brandy.”

  Unable but to smile at his good-humoured reaction to my rude dismissal of his generous gesture, I put the glass to my lips and took the smallest sip of the drink. “It’s firey, Sir,” I said at the sensation of the brandy burning the back of my throat.

  “Ah but it is a fire to which one can become all too accustomed, Sam,” the Doctor replied, sighing, as he fell back onto his bunk, instructing, “Take a seat, Sam. Stay and talk with me a while – we shall neither of us sleep until the ship becomes more steady.”

  I sat down in the Doctor’s chair and watched him as he sprawled on his bed, his legs apart and his manner easy. Involuntarily, my eyes wandered from his strong knees, up the length of his trousers. Realising that he watched me as I watched him, I recollected myself and averted my gaze.

  “You’re a man, Sam – albeit a young man; tell me, is there anybody you’re pining for back on shore during these long nights at sea?”

  “No Sir,” I answered quite truthfully.

  The Doctor fell silent.

  “And you Sir?” I asked in a moment.

  He sighed, then stirred himself, poured out another generous measure of the drink and took a swig of it. “There was, Sam – but no more.”

  It was a few moments before I asked tentatively, “Did the young lady die, Sir?”

  At that he let out an uncharacteristically wry laugh and took another draught of spirit. “No, Sam, she most certainly did not die.” He paused before adding, “She found a man with better connections – she cast me aside.”

  He said it cynically. I could tell this was a wound from which he had far from recovered.

  “I am sorry Sir,” I said and then, without thinking, continued, “I cannot imagine that a young lady should be able to bear the loss of you, Doctor John.” I stopped myself, and felt the colour rising to my cheeks. To hide my embarrassment, I took another sip of the brandy, warming now both to the hot sensation it brought me as it slipped down my throat and to the boldness it seemed to give my thoughts and words.

  But fortunately the Doctor’s response was dismissive. Laughing again, he answered, “I see the drink’s going to your head, Sam.” He watched me closely. “What a strange creature you are, Sam – so slight in stature and yet so bold in spirit. With what confidence you undertook the task of stitching that sailor’s arm tonight. And yet, watching you at work, so nimble with your needle, Sam, I would have sworn yours were the hands of a woman–”

  “I must go, Doctor,” I said hastily. “I must go back to steerage – if I delay, I will wake others on my return.”

  “Sam!” he exclaimed, “forgive me – I did not mean to offend you.”

  “No offence is taken, Doctor, I assure you,” I replied.

  “I only marvel at your many hidden skills–”

  “Really, I must away, Doctor–”

  “But if there is no offence, Sam, then why not bide here? There is room for one so slight as yourself alongside me in this bed.”

  And so it was. That night was the first of many I was to spend sleeping alongside the Doctor. His argument was that, since he would require my presence in the early morning anyway and since my place beside him in his bunk could be no less comfortable than the bench on which I slept in steerage, I might as well bide with him every night.

  That first time, the Doctor fell asleep almost instantly and snored heavily from the drink he had taken. I did not sleep that night – I could not.

  So intense to me was the sensation of his being so close that, despite my fatigue and my great sense of peace to be at his side, my mind would not switch off.
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br />   Late in the night, when I knew the pitch black outside the porthole of the Doctor’s cabin would soon give way to the dawning of a new day, Doctor John, deep in his slumber, wrapped his arms around me and embraced me, murmuring rather feverishly, “Marianne,” into my ear as he did.

  So that must be the young lady who had abandoned him. I took his large, strong hand in mine and placed it to my lips.

  “Marianne,” he repeated, with indulgent warmth in his voice now. He strengthened his hold of me.

  At that moment my happiness was complete.

  * * *

  When he had pardoned me for my illegal presence onboard his ship, Captain Grey had envisaged my role to be that of a manservant to the good Doctor. It was I who had sought to ensure that my first duties were as an aide in the sick cabin, rather than in his personal quarters.

  But, with my presence at his side ever more constant, inevitably I came to assist the Doctor in an increasingly personal capacity.

  Unless Doctor John was called upon to dine with the Captain, we took our meals together in his cabin and time spent thus at leisure in his presence was one of my greatest sources of joy.

  About ablutions and dressing, I was, of course, fastidiously secretive – I had to be. Fortunately, Doctor John dismissed my behaviour as being an aspect of my shyness. His own conduct was always that of a gentleman but he had the brashness of a man about him when it came to the matter of dressing – he was not in the least self-conscious – and many a time I found myself having to avert my eyes, tempted as I always was to look upon his manly form.

  When the ship suffered an outbreak of influenza, it was not long before the Doctor himself fell victim to the illness and I, of course, was only too willing to nurse him.