Page 11 of Miss Whittier Makes a List
He stared at her in surprise.“Of course, miss. Is there any other way?”
She sighed and took a sip. The orderly shook his head and left the cabin. Before she gave up on the coffee, there was another knock. It was the ship’s surgeon, with white trousers and a black-and-white checked shirt draped over hisarm.
“Daniel informs me it is moving day,”he said after a perfunctory tug on her nightshirt and a professional scrutiny of her shoulders.“The cabin boy died of the bloody flux in theCaribbean, so we have his clothes for you.”
Her eyes opened wide.“Thee does not think they are contaminated?”
He chuckled.“No! You may find the smallclothes a bit perplexing, but then, not many slop chests have clothes for the female formon His Majesty’s warships.”
She blushed and accepted the garments. The surgeon smiled and returned to the door.
“When you’re dressed,come into the companionway, and I’ll escort you to your new quarters,”he said.
Hannah climbed out of the berth and tugged on the smallclothes, refusing to be embarrassed by them. The shirt, heavy cotton worn soft from many washings, was a loose fit, which pleased herenormously. As she buttoned the shirt, she was grateful for once for her ownslim form. Wearing that loose shirt, there would be nothing remotely enticing about her figure. As small as they were,the trousers were a little long,but fitted her nicely across the hips. She pulled them up, tied the drawstring at the waist, and tucked the shirtinto the pants. It wasa simple matter to roll up the trouser legs.
She stood barefoot on the deck, enjoying the feel of wood under her bare feet, and relishing the relief of no stockings.A person could be almost comfortable in this rigout, she thought. A glance in the small shavingmirrorattached to the bulkhead only confirmed Captain Spark’s pithy observation about her skin, but revealed nothing about her clothes. Somehow they would have to do.
As she left the cabin, the sentry outside the door clicked his heels together smartly, presented arms, and then relaxed again. Eyes wide, she admired his red coat, which was stretched across his chest without a wrinkle, and thenturned awayin confusion when he winked at her.
“Oh, dear,”shemurmuredunder her breath, and looked up to see the surgeon leaning against a cannon,watching her obviousembarrassment.
They stood in the waist of the ship, with rows of guns made secure with a system of ropes and pulleys. The gunports were closed, but it was not dark, because the gun deck was open to the main deck above, like a skylight cut into a roof.
“This is a frigate,”the surgeon explained,“with forty guns, eighteen to a side, and twocarronadeson the main deck and two bow chasers. We are not a ship of the line, but a commerce raider.”
He led her down a companionway aft from the silent guns, and opened a door just beyond the last gun. She peered inside, taking in the gun there, too, the hammock slung above it, the gunportsecured. She looked back at the surgeon for explanation.
“When we clear the decks for action, the gun crews knock down these bulkheads, and your cabinbecomes another part of the gun deck. So does the captain’s great cabin, and most of the other quarters.”He patted the gun under the hammock.“Miss Whittier, you are now residing on a killing machine. TheDissuadeis a shark in internationalwaters.”
Hannah shuddered and eyed the hammock dubiously.“Suppose I should fall out of this thing?”
“Then you have the cannon underneath to break your fall,”the surgeon replied, smiling at her wary expression.“Come, come, Miss Whittier! Have a little confidence in yourself!”
“Very well, sir,”she said.
She looked around the tiny cabin and saw only a small sea chest. The surgeon opened it.“There are some more clothes in here, and whatever else that little beggar owned. This was not his cabin, of course. He slept on the floor in the galley. You have merely dispossessed two midshipmen.”
“I am sorry for that,”she said, noticing the ring bolts where the second hammock must have been secured and wondering how onearththere was room for two in a space for less than one. She looked in the sea chest, noting the extrashirtand canvas trousers, folding knife, and wooden flute. It was so little by which to remember a life.“How old was he?”she asked as the surgeon squeezed past the cannon and stood in the doorway again.
“He was ten,”Lease said. His face was devoid of emotion, as though he steeled himself against a greater pain.
“So young,”shemurmuredas she touched the flute and then closed the chest gently, wondering what was camouflaged by the surgeon’s toneless voice.
He nodded.“That’s the way of it.Captain Spark went to sea at ten. He has been more than twenty years in the navy, and all of them during the wartime.”
“Thee cannot be serious,”she said, startled.“What kind of life is that?”
The surgeon merely managed a small bow in the narrow opening of the door.“Who said it was a life? We live to serve the guns,and that is war, my dear.”He looked beyond hertothe great hulk of the gun.“Perhaps we would all fare worse on land. Good day, mydear. Go on deck, if you wish.”
She nodded and he closed the door.Hannahsat down on the little chest and looked around her. She would only be able to stand upright because she was short. The gun was secured to the deck bya series of pulleys and tackle,necessitating that she watch her step to avoid stubbing her toes.
Hannah eyed the hammockfor another minute, then rose. She stared at the gun, then climbed onto it and then into the hammock. Holding her breath, she lay back carefully and expected to be dumped out by the ship’s movements.
Nothing of the sorthappened. The hammock swayed gently from side to side and enfolded her in its generous cloth embrace. She relaxed and closed her eyes, perfectly at peace with herself as she listened to the shipboard sounds around her, the creak of the wood,the rhythmical scrape as the men holystoned the deck above. Every now and then, someone laughed, and voices murmured. Above this she heard the steady tread of someone on the quarterdeck, and then the humming of the wind inthe riggings. It was a pleasant,low-pitched sound that seemed toharmonizewith the slap of the water as theDissuadecut through the sea.
When Hannah woke, she was still in the enveloping grasp of the hammock, swaying with the rhythm of the frigate cutting through the water. There was only the faint light of afternoon coming through the tiny porthole to indicate the passage of time. It was well that people kept watches aboard a ship, she thought as she lay there, or we would lose all sense of time at sea.
She lay there a moment longer as anenormousfeeling of well-being washed over her. Her shoulders and knees still pained her, but she was alive and whole, and that was more than enough. I really should thank the captain for his kindness to me, she thought.
