Wide is the Water (6 page)

‘Yes. But I never knew him. He was killed in the French and Indian War.' Hart was relaxing a little now, sipping his wine, in a kind of limbo between the desperate hours of battle and the unknown, unpromising future. Somewhere above them, on deck, a man screamed, then was silent.

‘They're still getting the wounded belowdecks,' said Captain Purchas. ‘I've a good surgeon. He'll do his best for them. Both yours and mine.'

‘And then?' Hart took another sip of wine and made himself begin to look forward.

‘It's a devil of a war, this, and none of my seeking,'
the Englishman answered obliquely. ‘My party, the Whigs, have been against it from the start. Criminal folly. Fighting our own kin over some stupid taxes that should never have been levied. As if we hadn't enough natural enemies. Well, look at us now, with the French and Spanish joined against us, and the Dutch looking uncommon unfriendly. But that's not to say I'm not fighting you Americans with everything I've got. That's my job, and I'm doing it.'

‘You don't have to tell me that,' said Hart. ‘I saw. But the men. My men. What will you do with them?'

‘I shall do my best to persuade them to change their coats and enlist with me, I've not seen England for years. I'm shorthanded, of course. I could use some good men like yours. I hope I can persuade them. Otherwise, it will mean a long spell of prison for them. I'm on my way home, you see. With despatches.' He had purposely delayed the announcement until his prisoner had drunk half his wine and began to look a little more relaxed.

‘To England?' Hart kept his voice steady with an effort. Idiotic to have assumed that Captain Purchas was operating from New York, where an exchange would be comparatively easy to arrange, at least for himself. As for the men, if they had not put up such a good fight, he would almost have wondered whether at least some of them had not hoped for capture and a chance to change sides. What other explanation could there be for that failure to rouse him at first sight of the enemy?

‘Yes. With all possible speed. I'd not have chased you if you'd run for it. Good news for me, bad for you and your men, I'm afraid, but I hope I can manage better for you, Cousin. My family may be Whigs, in opposition, but we've friends in high places just the same. No need for you to languish in gaol, I think. But time enough to think of that when we are there. In the meantime, is there any one you would like to write to in case we should speak a ship bound for New York before we leave American waters?'

Thank you. Yes. My mother. My wife.'

‘You're never married!' He had been thinking this newfound cousin of his young to be a captain, despite the hint of white in his untidy fair hair.

‘Last autumn.' It was March now, nearly three months since that swift, sad parting from Mercy and no possible chance of hearing from her. But she would be safe with the Pastons. Of course she would. If he had left her at Philadelphia, as she had asked, everything would have been different; none of this would have happened. No use thinking of that now. But he must remember it when he felt himself tempted to blame her for his crew's disaffection. ‘My wife's staying with relatives of ours near Boston,' he said. ‘I'd very much like to get word to her and to my mother in Savannah.'

‘Write to them both, of course.' Captain Purchas poured more wine. ‘But I'm afraid your wife is more likely to learn the news from the public prints. Your mother in Savannah is another matter since we hold the town. I know Sir James Wright, the British Governor of Georgia, slightly. If we do speak a ship, I'll enclose your letter to your mother under cover to him.'

‘He's an old friend of ours,' said Hart.

‘There you are. I told you it was a ridiculous war. I devoutly hope we'll get home to find that negotiations for peace are under way. In the meantime, Cousin Purchis, you must consider yourself my guest while you are on board the
Sparrow.
Have I your word that you'll not try to escape or meddle with the men?'

Hart paused for a moment, looking round the luxurious cabin, remembering the sheer size of the
Sparrow.
Thought of escape was idiotic, and as for his crew … ‘Yes,' he said.

‘Sensible.' Purchas breathed a sigh of relief and shouted an order to the marine on duty outside the cabin door. ‘You'll be glad to get to your cabin. Paper and pen will be brought to you directly. If we sight a ship at all, it's most likely to be in the next day or so.'

‘Thank you. You'll let me have a copy of the list of survivors?'

‘Of course. And you'll want to visit your sick. But later, if you please, when the surgeon has had time to go the rounds.' He held out his hand. ‘I hope you will be as happy as is possible on board the
Sparrow,
Cousin.'

‘Thank you.' He could not quite bring himself to call this friendly stranger cousin.

The first lieutenant of the
Sparrow
had presumably been turned out to make room for Hart in this tiny cabin that was more like a cupboard, with a cot, a writing desk, and a chest for the clothes he did not have. It was mercy enough that they had managed to get the wounded off the
Georgia
before she sank, taking the dead with her. Snatching the ship's papers from his cabin, he had felt the
Georgia
settling in the water. No time to think about his own effects when there were still wounded to be got aboard the
Sparrow's
boats. It was only now, as a grinning British sailor brought him paper, pen, and a small inkstand, that he remembered the certificate of marriage Captain Bougainville had written for him and Mercy on board the
Guerrier.
He had kept it in his Bible, and it had gone down with the
Georgia.

An unlucky marriage from the start? He would not believe it. But the loss of their marriage lines did not make writing to Mercy any easier, and he decided to write the letter to his mother first. After all, it was much more likely to reach its destination, and then, surely, his mother would get word to Mercy. After all, so far as he knew, his mother, his aunt Mayfield, and his cousin Abigail were still living very comfortably in the Savannah house on Mercy's earnings. It was entirely thanks to her that they had survived the rigours of the British occupation as well as they had. She had turned the Purchis house in Oglethorpe Square into a kind of club and gaming house for British officers and made a resounding success of it. He smiled wryly to himself, remembering his own savage jealousy when he had come home, secretly, a spy,
and seen Mercy flirting with the British officers. And then the astonishing discovery that she, too, had been a spy, egging on her admirers to indiscretions which she had used to good effect in the pamphlets she published in her other, secret identity as the Rebel Pamphleteer.

Lucky for him – he lifted the pen and put it down again – very lucky, that the British had kept the truth about Mercy as quiet as they could after he himself had accidentally led them to discover her. It had not at all suited their book to have been so roundly fooled by a mere girl. In the one letter he had had from his mother, in answer to his announcement of his marriage to Mercy, Mrs. Purchis had said nothing about the Rebel Pamphleteer, unless a glancing remark about how kind the British had been was intended as a reference to the illicit printing press they had discovered concealed in the cellar at Oglethorpe Square. The British had apparently not penalised the household for this. She, her sister Mayfield, and Abigail Purchis were still running the club, she had told him: ‘We do very well.'

She had not mentioned Mercy's emeralds, either, which he knew she and her sister had pawned to meet their expenses, and her comments on his marriage had seemed curiously lukewarm, considering what a tower of strength and comfort Mercy had been to them all. Well, of course, Aunt Mayfield would inevitably be mourning her son Francis, and whatever version of his death had been current in Savannah, it was certainly not the true one. It would have suited neither British nor Americans to have it be known just what a double or even triple game Francis had been playing, with the Purchis inheritance as the stake.

He picked up the pen again and dipped it in the ink. Francis had lost. Francis was dead, and Winchelsea, the plantation house he had coveted, was burnt. ‘We'll be back, Hart, you and I,' Mercy had said, that last day, standing under the ruined Judas tree by her father's
grave. Would they ever? He sighed and began to write slowly:

My dear Mother:

This is to tell you that the
Georgia
is sunk, half her men dead, the rest and I prisoners on board HMS
Sparrow.
By a most amazing chance, her captain proves to be an English cousin of ours – he spells it Purchas.

(Captain Purchas would read this letter. It was his duty, though he had been too polite to say so.)

You see how fortunate, all things considered, I have been.

(The words came more easily now.)

And I hope you will not mind too much that we are bound for England. You know I have always wished to go there, and my cousin Purchas hopes to be able to save me from imprisonment. So you must not fret about me, dear madam, but take care of yourself, and if you will, write to Mercy and tell her that I am unhurt and as always her loving husband. I am writing to her too, to Farnham, but my cousin Purchas is less sure of the letter's reaching her. I hope that you have had good news of her from the Pastons and that all goes well with you all.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a midshipman who looked all of twelve years old announced that Cap'n Purchas wished to see him urgently.

What now? A ship already or some new disaster?

‘There's trouble among your crew.' Captain Purchas had been gazing out the stern windows at a blazing sunset that reminded Hart: horribly of the morning's battle. ‘I thought you'd want to know.'

‘Trouble?' Was there no end to it?

‘Yes. My bosun had to intervene to save a boy's life. A black boy.'

‘Bill!' Hart exclaimed. ‘Hardly a boy. I thought him dead. I swear he was missing when we abandoned ship. But that's good news. He's an old friend,' he explained. ‘His family have worked for us forever.' And then: ‘But who attacked him?'

‘Some of your crew. They said he'd robbed your cabin. He had your Bible when one of our boats picked him out of the water. He asks to see you. Urgently. I rather think there's more to it. I'm afraid I must ask to be present.'

‘Yes. Naturally.' His Bible. Bill. Bill, who had insisted on looking after his things, who must have known the precious document the Bible contained. When he himself had forgotten it, Bill had risked his life to save it for him and had nearly been killed for his pains.

Brought into the captain's cabin under guard, Bill was still in his wet clothes and bleeding freely from a wound on the head and another on his right arm. He was grey with exhaustion, his teeth chattering with cold, and he was clutching Hart's Bible in his left hand. ‘Thank God you're safe, sir,' he said as Captain Purchas dismissed the guard. He held out the Bible. ‘I knew you'd want this. I just wish I could have brought your things too.'

‘You risked your life for it. Thank you, Bill.' Hart took the Bible and undid the stiff clasp. Bougainville's precious paper was still there, but the water had got at it. It was an illegible smear, only the heading ‘On Board the
Guerrier
' still legible.

‘Something important?' Captain Purchas had recognised the moment of tense disappointment.

‘Our marriage lines,' Hart told him. ‘What made the others think it was theft, Bill? Surely they know you better than that?'

Bill looked anxiously from one captain to the other, and Hart began to understand that misleading description of him as a ‘boy'. He had always been slightly built, but he now looked almost frail, a very far cry from the brave ally who had helped save Mercy's life when Francis had nearly captured her. What in the world was the matter
with him? ‘What is it, man?' he asked impatiently. ‘Speak up. Why did they turn on you?'

‘You should know, Captain,' said Bill bitterly. ‘If they called Mrs. Purchis a Jonah, what do you think they call me, the only black on the ship?'

‘A Jonah? Mercy? Impossible!'

‘I wish it had been. You should have left her at Philadelphia, like she asked, Captain. They didn't like that long haul north and no prizes. A lot of talk there was, bad talk.'

‘You should have told me.'

‘On that little ship, with ears everywhere? It would have sealed our death warrants. I hoped things would get better after Mrs. Purchis was safe onshore. If only we'd taken a prize then …'

‘I know.' Hart was acutely aware of the English captain, silent, listening …

‘They turned against
me
then.' It was a relief to Bill to tell it all at last. ‘A black. Sharing their quarters. Treated the same as them. They didn't like it. Made a great deal of my looking after you like I did, sir. Said it was the right job for a slave. Said a lot of things I don't reckon to tell you.'

‘It's a curious thing,' said the English captain quietly, ‘but I thought that Declaration of Independence of yours said something about equality.'

‘Tell that to one of us blacks,' said Bill. ‘If your men hadn't intervened, Captain, and I'm grateful, I'd be a dead equal. So I'm going to tell you both something I think you need to know.' He turned back to face Hart. ‘It was no accident you weren't told first thing when we sighted the
Sparrow,
Mr. Hart. Half the crew wanted to be taken, to change their coats, and the other half were as wild a set of death or glory boys as you could wish for. So … between them …'

‘Now I understand,' interposed the Englishman. ‘That's why you chose to fight against such overwhelming odds, Cousin.'

‘Too late to do anything else,' said Hart grimly. ‘I wish you joy of your prisoners, Cousin Purchas.'