Authors: Madeline Evering
“Captain John Knight,” Lieutenant
Matthews proclaimed warmly, “I present to you my niece, Miss Catherine Gibson.”
Catherine bowed in curtsey at the introduction and received a strict bow from
the captain in return. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Gibson”
the Captain replied formally, his low voice cool in tone. Her own words came
haltingly as she returned his greeting: “I am pleased to make your acquaintance
as well, Captain” she replied. “My uncle has told me a great deal about you…
about his life onboard the
Triton
,” she stammered. “I am very grateful
you agreed to grant me passage to Jamaica. It is very… very kind of you.” she
finished awkwardly. The captain looked at Catherine a long time, taking in her
careful, elegant attire so completely at odds with the rough surroundings of
the ship. His lips twisted with wry amusement; “I am afraid your gratitude is
misplaced, Miss Gibson” Knight replied brusquely. “As I am sure your uncle has
told you, I do not believe in allowing women onboard a ship of war.” Catherine
started somewhat at his frank words and felt the smile fall from her face. Her
uncle
had
made such comments to her before, in his tales of life at sea,
but when she had been notified by her father’s agent in London that passage had
been secured aboard
HMS Triton
, she assumed it had been with the captain’s
full agreement. “I think you should know that your presence on this ship is at
the direction of the Admiralty, not by my desire….. It would appear that your
father has some very fine connections” Captain Knight finished dryly. Matthews
gave an uncomfortable cough while a flush of color came into Catherine’s cheeks
at the captain’s words. This journey was neither her wish nor want, and to be
accused of manipulating her way onboard was offensive to this young woman of
integrity. Catherine’s eyes sparked with anger as she met the Captain’s gaze
and replied sharply: “I apologize,
sir,
that my presence gives you such offense.
I will endeavor to keep out of your way and I am sure, given your sentiments,
that you will do the same.”
Knight’s eyes glittered dangerously
and a stern note of warning entered his voice; “Miss Gibson, you are to be
transported to Jamaica as quickly as my duty will allow but know that while
onboard you are at my command, the same as any other soul here. You will follow
my instructions, obey my wishes, and avoid any interference with the efficient
management of this ship. Foster!” he barked to a young deck hand who came
racing forward at the command. “Mister Foster will show you to your cabin, Miss
Gibson. Your things will be brought to you there directly. We sail in one hour.
We will meet again for supper in my cabin at precisely 8pm. Good day to you” he
finished curtly and strode away without a backward glance.
Catherine remained rooted to the spot
in mortification. “Uncle,” she implored softly as Matthews touched her on the
arm. “You should have told me. You should have said something before we left Portsmouth…” Her uncle grabbed her hand tightly in his own and gave her an affectionate squeeze
before speaking: “I am so sorry, dear Catherine. I did not know how to tell
you. I know how hard it is for you to make this journey; I did not want to add
to your distress. I am so terribly sorry my dear.” “It is true, then” Catherine
replied flatly, “My father has used his influence to gain my passage to Jamaica? He has forced the captain’s hand?” Matthews could only nod in mute agreement.
Catherine felt the weight of this knowledge settle heavy on her soul. She gave a
wan smile of resignation and patted her uncle’s arm as she prepared to go. “It
will be alright,” her uncle proclaimed with more conviction than he felt. “It
will, dear girl. You’ll see”. She nodded once more, and then stepped forward to
follow the young cabin boy to what would be her home for this already troubling
journey.
Chapter
III
Tom Foster, the cabin boy, led
Catherine to a small, spare room on the ship’s first level. Though of no great
size, it boasted a bed, a small writing desk with a suspended lantern, a silvered
glass on one wall, and a built in wardrobe opposite. A small porthole window
looked out onto the sea. To Catherine’s surprise the space was immaculately
clean, not at all the dark, uncomfortable space she imagined a ship’s cabin to
be. Tom settled her small bag at the foot of the bed and shyly asked if he
could be of any further service. Catherine gave the young boy a kind smile and
insisted that she would do very well in the cabin until the rest of her
belongings arrived. “We sail almost immediately,” the young boy interjected
nervously. “You might wish to stay below as we get under sail….” he stammered,
trying to advise her on how his captain would likely wish things to proceed.
“But once we’re under way,” he finished “you should come on deck, Miss. It’s a
beautiful sight when we first make way.” Catherine caught Tom’s
well-intentioned meaning and agreed to his plan. “Yes, Tom. That sounds lovely.
I shall do exactly that.” The boy grinned hugely, grateful that she’d
understood his kindly advice. He left in a flash to return to his work while
Catherine settled into her new lodgings.
Removing her bonnet and pelisse,
Catherine stretched out on the bed and allowed the events of the day to run
unchecked through her mind. It seemed like an eternity since she had risen at
the small Portsmouth inn and prepared for departure to her new life. The many
strange sights she had encountered passed through her memory in rapid
succession, but each was quickly interrupted by a recurring image of Captain Knight’s
face, his look dark and unforgiving, as he told her how little welcome she was
on board his ship. Catherine gave a small groan of remorse and turned her face
into the pillow. She was no timid flower to shrink from this information, but added
to the weight of knowledge she already bore about her journey, it seemed more
than her innocent heart could carry.
Without intending too, the exhausted Catherine
drifted off into an uneasy sleep. The sounds and motions of the ship as it took
sail did not rouse her and she did not awake until many hours later. When she
finally came to in the unaccustomed space, the sun was low in the sky outside
her cabin window. She struggled to remember where she was, to understand the
strange motion of the room. As awareness dawned on her, Catherine became aware
of another, discomforting realization: her senses were in utter turmoil.
Although the breeze was steady and the motion of the ship quite gentle for
anyone accustomed to the sea, to Catherine – at sail for the first time – it was
absolute torture. She grimaced at the realization, and was grateful for the
fact that she had hardly eaten all day in their hurry to depart. She sat up
slowly on the side of the bed, attempting to still her spinning head.
At the same moment, a gentle tap
sounded on the cabin door. Clutching the bed post and the desk in turn,
Catherine groped her way to the door and then gave an enormous effort to pull
herself up straight to answer the summons. Outside, a shy, smiling Tom Foster stood
waiting with her trunk. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss” he said, “I came by
earlier but there was no response.” “Oh, I am sorry to have caused you such
trouble” Catherine mumbled feebly, fighting the waves of dizziness she felt.
“I…I guess I must have been a bit tired after my long journey.” The boy looked
curiously into her face and read the signs of distress that she tried so hard
to conceal. He hesitated a moment before he spoke: “I brought your trunk miss,
as it is almost time for supper. It’s just… Captain Knight is quite punctual
about meals, miss. I thought you would want your things to prepare for supper?”
The thought of eating sent another dizzying wave throughout Catherine’s body. She
closed her eyes a moment and nodded to the boy, “Yes, just so” she replied, her
dark lashes sweeping against her pale face. “Please bring the trunk inside,
Tom” and she motioned him into the room. The boy moved quickly and settled the
trunk, then took the extra step of opening the lid for her in an effort to help
in her moment of distress. He looked at Catherine with compassion as she slowly
moved to the writing desk and gingerly settled in the chair. “I’ll leave you now,
miss” Tom said but made no movement to go, waiting instead for a sign from her,
some request to be excused from supper. But Catherine was made of sterner
stuff; she gave the boy another weak smile and said, “I shall be there
directly.”
When the door clicked closed,
Catherine moved as fast as her aching head could manage. She would not allow
the captain to see her distress or to accuse her of ill manners for not accepting
his invitation. She reached into her trunk and retrieved a few toiletries, and
a silk chemise of softest pink to change into for dinner. Painstakingly slow,
she prepared for the meal, every movement requiring the greatest of effort.
When Catherine at last managed to complete her dress, she tried next to arrange
her hair into some semblance of order. Several long curls escaped the effort of
her hands and she finally gave up on them and allowed them to fall around her
face. She looked in the glass and gave a small grimace at the pale face that
looked back at her. An urgent rap at the door drew her attention and she went
to answer it a second time. The anxious face of Tom Foster met her once more.
His eyes were full of apology as he performed his required duty: “I’m sorry,
miss, but the captain asked me to fetch you to supper directly. It is well past
the hour” he stammered, trying to balance duty to his captain with his great sympathy
for Miss Gibson’s obvious discomfort. “Oh, of course, Tom” she replied. “Could I
ask you to please lead me there?” The young boy stepped aside as Catherine
exited her room. After just a few small steps she paused, swaying on her feet,
then reached for his arm in support. The boy flushed to the roots of his hair
at the contact but he manfully kept hold of her arm as he led her through the
maze of passageways to the captain’s cabin.
The stateroom of the
HMS Triton
was an intensely masculine space. The dark paneled walls, heavy oaken
furniture, and weighty draperies of dark green were perfectly at home amidst
the serious business of a ship of the line. No feminine touch lit any corner of
this somber room; nor had any female ever been present inside its forbidding
walls. In this room, on this most unusual night, the senior officers of the
Triton
were nervously shifting about in their accustomed places. Only one chair at the
table remained empty – that reserved for Miss Gibson – and upon that chair
Captain Knight delivered a withering look of contempt. Dinner was to begin at 8
o’clock; it was now half past the hour.
“Foster,” the captain had finally
called with disgust, “You will please find out Miss Gibson.” The cabin boy had
quickly hurried from the room and those who remained fell silent. The gathering
had started well enough with the men joking good naturedly about the beautiful
woman Matthews had smuggled aboard. Matthews had basked in their compliments to
his niece with great pride, and even Captain Knight had shared a slight smile
at their words. But as the hour to dine had come then passed, and the
celebrated lady did not arrive, the clever talk and good humor began to fade.
To men engaged in the efficient handling of a British ship of war, punctuality
was an absolute necessity; especially on a day such as this when the business
of getting a ship underway had kept most men from eating since morning.
Into this inhospitable clime, a very
ill Catherine entered, clinging to the arm of young Foster in support. The boy
led Catherine to her place at table and she gratefully sank into her chair at
last. Every man rose at her arrival then resumed their seats as she was
settled. Her uncle caught her eye and delivered a firm look of reprimand that
was completely alien to his usual jolly manner with the girl. Catherine felt
deep remorse for having so embarrassed her uncle by her lateness, but the
horrible dizzying sensations in her head kept her from speaking. An
uncomfortable hush settled on the room, each man waiting for some word to free
them from this nervous tension. Finally, with Herculean effort, Catherine found
her voice and addressed the men: “I do beg your pardon, gentlemen, for joining
you so late. I am afraid I… I took longer to prepare than I intended….” She trailed
off miserably. The officers in their great hospitality were quick to murmur
assent, assuring her that all was well. But one look at the captain convinced
Catherine otherwise. He made no acknowledgement of her speech and instead called
sharply to the porter: “We dine now.”
At Captain Knight’s command, the
places were quickly set with steaming bowls of broth, loaves of bread, and
generous quantities of wine. On any other occasion, Catherine would have been
delighted at the well prepared meal set before her. The ship’s fare and fine
table settings were the equal to any she had shared in a country manor house.
However, on this occasion, Catherine could only stare at the bounty before her in
utter dismay. Under the table, she fiercely kept grip on the side of her chair
with her right hand, willing herself in place. Her left hand rose tremblingly
forward and picked up her spoon. As she struggled with the problem of what to
do next, a question from her tablemate caught her attention: “Did you have an
opportunity to go above decks as we departed?” asked the junior lieutenant
opposite her, anxious to engage the lovely young woman before him; “It is
always a glorious sight as we get underway” he finished with friendly
enthusiasm. “Ah, ….. no…” Catherine responded uncomfortably. She stirred the
soup in front of her, unable to even contemplate taking a bite, and tried desperately
to think of a proper response to the young man’s question: “I have been in my
cabin since coming aboard earlier” she said curtly, with neither the will, nor
the clarity of mind to come up with a better, more civil answer. The young man
looked somewhat abashed at her unceremonious reply while Captain Knight’s face drew
tight with scorn. Knight glared at Catherine as he addressed her coldly: “I
know this is not exactly a society ballroom, Miss Gibson. But I would have
thought the operation of the ship might hold some interest for you.” Catherine
blushed at his criticism, fully aware how badly her behavior must look to the
Captain and his men. She raised her head to meet his gaze and replied levelly;
“The ship is of great fascination to me, Captain. I am anxious to explore the
Triton
…
I hope I might even be allowed to make some sketches of the ship, of the men at
their tasks?” she finished hopefully. Captain Knight looked at her flatly and
replied, “As long as you keep out of the men’s way and offer no
further
disruption of their duties.” His pointed barb was well aimed and Catherine’s
head lowered in embarrassment.