Fanny (53 page)

CHAPTER VI

In which our Heroine and her loyal Servant, Susannah, begin their Apprenticeship at Sea, and learn that the Sailor’s Life is not an easy one, tho’ the Ship hath scarce left the Dock.

“M
ERCIFUL HEAVEN,” SAID SUSANNAH
, “we must away upon the Instant to the Docks an’ find that Seaman to whom Mrs. Prue sent me with her Letter. She’ll no doubt be takin’ Ship upon the
Cassandra
—O what a Fool was I not to read the Letter ere deliverin’ it! “’Tis all me Fault, Mrs. Fanny. Dear God, I curse the Day that I was born.” And with that, Susannah began to weep most piteously.

Seeing her give way to Grief, I could not do the same, tho’ my Heart was heavy as Lead, and Panick reign’d supreme in my Soul. Oft’ when our Friends shed bitter Tears, we must choke back our own, tho’ we have more Reason to weep than they.

“No Fault of yours,” said I, “but my own for putting so much Faith upon a Wet-Nurse’s Philosophy.” E’en in my Misery and Shock, I could not find it in my Heart to blame Susannah, so loyal had she been.

“Why, without your Care, I surely should have perish’d after the Flight of Isobel,” said I. “I owe my Life to you, and e’en Belinda’s. Come! We’ll catch that Villain Mrs. Prue, and save the Babe!”

I bade Susannah toss sundry Belongings for both of us into a Portmanteau—nor did I forget my Romance nor my Foolscap and my Quills—whereupon we hasten’d to depart.

“What’s this? What’s afoot?” said Mrs. Wetton, for she saw us throwing on our Cloaks and making for the Door.

“Never ye mind,” said Susannah. “Pray, attend to yer Potts, fer we shall want a good Supper when we return.”

“I’ve half a Mind to quit yer Service,” says the Cook, “what with all the goin’s-on about this Place. There’s many that wants a Chef o’ my Stature, there is, and pays better, not to mention Vails.”

“Then suit yerself,” says Susannah brazenly. “Clear out ere we return. I’m sure Mrs. Fanny can find a better Cook than ye.”

“Hmmph,” says Wetton, “that’ll be the Day.”

For my own part, I hardly car’d at all, since ’neath my Chearful Demeanor I was suffus’d with Fear and Trembling for the Welfare of Belinda. Like a Sleep-Walker, I went thro’ the Motions of Departure as if I were supremely confident of the Return of my Child; yet I felt as hollow within as I had felt full during my Pregnancy. If Belinda dy’d ’twould be as if my own right Arm were taken or my Beating Heart were pluckt out of my Chest. O I shudder’d e’en to think on’t, and my Hair crawl’d upon my Scalp as if making ready to stand on End. I knew full well that without Belinda my Life would be worth nought to me; I would straggle thro’ the Rest of my Days upon Earth like a Ghost that haunts the Scene of her violent Murder because she cannot conceive that she is dead.

We were just out the Door and preparing to beg, borrow, or steal a Chair or Coach to take us to the River, when I remember’d my red Garter, lying upon my Dressing Table. There was not a Moment to lose, yet I doubted not but the Garter was as necessary to the Happy Issue of our Adventure as any other Article of Clothing or Sentiment whatsoe’er—for, against all Reason, I suspected it possess’d Magical Pow’rs. ’Twas a foolish Belief, perhaps, but harmless enough in view of my present Plight.

“Quick, Susannah, fetch my Garter,” said I. And then, thinking quickly that ’twas no bad Thing to have a Disguise or two at hand, I bade her fetch a few of the silken Masks and Costumes in which I had entertain’d Lord Bellars during my Lying-in. Heaven alone knew what tumultuous Adventures lay in store and ’twould be useful to have some Protection in the Form of a Disguise.

Susannah ran up the Stair, lugging the Portmanteau, and reappear’d a Moment or two later, the Portmanteau now stuff’d unto the Bursting Point.

By Luck, we commandeer’d a Hackney Hell Cart which, for one-and-six, was to take us to the Privy Stairs; but the Ride became a Purgatory of Delays, for London Traffick was e’en worse then than ’tis Today, and the Paving of the Streets was still in a most wretched and primitive State. Why, a Traveller would think the Town were a Hottentot Village rather than the Capital of the greatest Nation upon Earth! We were stopp’d ev’ry Minute by a great Jam of Chairs, Butchers’ Waggons, Dung Carts, Brewers’ Drays, as well as Cows, Turkeys, Pigs, Pedestrians, Peddlars, and Lone Riders upon horseback. O I was mad with the Delay!

After what seem’d an Eternity to my heavy Mother’s Heart, we reach’d the Privy Stairs near Whitehall and hir’d a Pair of Oars to take us as far as the Wharves. We were in such Impatience to reach the
Cassandra
that we e’en risqued “shooting,” as they call it, London Bridge (tho’ both Susannah and I knew full well that not a Year went by without some Hapless Party being dasht to Bits against its tott’ring Arches). But I had more upon my Mind than my own Safety; and tho’ ’twas not my Custom to shoot the Bridge—like most, I disembarqued in Upper Thames Street, then rejoin’d my Waterman at Billingsgate—upon this Occasion, I sneer’d at the other Passengers’ Scruples and sail’d straight thro’ with my Hair flying and my Heart pounding, whilst Susannah clung to me in Fear, crossing herself when she dar’d let go of me, and mutt’ring of Angels in Heaven.

I myself was in a State akin to Lunacy; tho’ I laugh’d and clapp’d the Waterman upon the Back after we’d safely clear’d the Bridge, ’twas not the Laughter of Mirth, I laugh’d, but the Laughter of Panick. My Mood was like the Water of the Thames, glist’ning with Sunlight up above, but stinking with Offal down below. Not e’en Susannah could perceive how I felt, for from the very first Moment when I view’d that desolate, empty Cradle, I had thrown myself into a Frenzy which maskt my deepest Grief. I was determin’d to brave any Peril till I should find my Babe, and I seem’d to be infus’d with a Determination beyond any I’d known my whole Life long.

Reaching the Wharves, at last, Susannah and I were astounded by the Flurry of Activity our Eyes beheld. Ne’er had I seen such a Crowd of Masts, wobbling upon the Water like a curious Forest seen by a Fellow who has had one Pott of Ale too many. Red-faced Fishwives with Baskets of Fish upon their Heads and stout Pipes clench’d within their rotten Teeth, sold their Fishy Wares at the Water’s Edge, whilst Bum-Boat Women in little Skiffs ply’d the Waters in the Wake of the Great Merchantmen, selling all Manner of Grog and Provisions, doubtless priced well above their Worth, to the Tars who leant from their Ships to purchase ’em.

Press-Gangs rov’d the Streets in search of such poor Unfortunates as they might o’erpower with Cudgels and drag, all unwilling, aboard their Men o’ War; and Trollops of a sort so pitiable that they made the Trollops who ply’d St. James’ Park look like Queens, rov’d in search of Swains who might pay ’em a Shilling, or e’en a few Ha’pennies, for a quick bit o’ Mutton in an Alley.

Many great Ships were loading up Provisions and Ballast for Sea-Voyages, and Hogsheads of Wine were being roll’d along the Docks by stout-shoulder’d Fellows who shouted more Curses to each other in a trice, than one might hear e’en upon the Thames. But by far the most curious Sight my Eyes had e’er beheld was the Vision of a Cow, bellowing with grievous Indignation, as she was hoisted up by Means of Ropes about her Middle and Pulleys attach’d to one of the Masts, swung thro’ the Air, and lower’d into the Hold of a Ship. I knew little enough of Sea-Travel—but for what Lancelot and Horatio had told me of their Adventures—yet it had scarce occurr’d to me that live Cattle were taken to Sea in such a Manner.

O think of the Calf, born in a bright Spring Field, the bluish Sack still enclosing her tiny Form and ’neath it her Fur still glist’ning with the Waters of the Womb, who stands up on shaky Legs and frolicks but one Summer ’neath the Teats of her Mother, only to grow tall enough to be sent to Sea as Food for rough, felonious Tars! Think, too, of the Puzzlement of that same Calf if the Ship should chance to founder and she should bellow her Way down to a watery Grave, or chance to fall betwixt the ungentle Teeth of a Shark! Ah the Loss of Belinda had set my Mind on edge and brought me to the perilous Brink of Madness!

Much encumber’d by the Heaviness of our Portmanteau, Susannah and I made Enquiries regarding the
Cassandra
, for we saw no Ship by that Name at the Docks—tho’ Susannah swore it had been dockt here a few Days before. Many of the Tars we approach’d would scarce speak to us, save swinishly, for they took us for Tarts who would solicit ’em and we had a Devil of a Time disabusing ’em of that Notion. At last, finding an old Seaman who seem’d rather sober and kindly-faced, I enquir’d of him whether the
Cassandra
was dockt here or no and he told me the following News:

“That she was, Lass, an’ took on Cargo an’ Provision fer a Voyage to the Colonies, but she departed fer Gravesend at Dawn, she did, with a Hold full o’ Woollens an’ Cottons, an’ a Crew o’ one hundred an’ five men.”

“At Dawn, say you?”

“At Dawn,” said the Seaman.

Thunderstruck, I turn’d to Susannah: “Then how could Prudence and the Babe be aboard, since they could not have sail’d at Dawn?”

“Damn me Eyes!” said the old Salt. “An ugly old Dam an’ her suckling Babe was ’ere not half a Day ago searchin’ out a Yawl or Skiff to take ’em to the
Cassandra
!”

“That’s my Babe!” I cried, looking at the Man as if he were the Messiah Himself. “She’s kidnapp’d my Babe!”

“An’ ye’ll ’ave others, too, Lass, young as ye are,” said the old Tar, as if this Piece of News would soothe me. I could scarce believe my Ears! Did he think I would so lightly abandon my Child upon the Hope of others? Had he ne’er seen a Woman give birth, that he thought it such a Trifle, a Fiddling Thing—like buying a Pott of Paint and losing it in a Hackney Coach, or e’en losing a gold Watch Case to a Cut-Purse?

“Pray, Sir, could they reach the
Cassandra
by Means of a Yawl?” Susannah askt.

“That they could, I’ll warrant, an’ the Tide were with ’em,” said the Tar.

“An’ could we reach ’em by the same Means?” Susannah press’d on.

“Doubtless, Lass, fer if I’m not mistaken, the ugly old Dam sail’d ere Noon an’ ’tis well past Five o’Clock.”

At this News I fell to my Knees upon the Ground and wept most piteously. O the Loss of Lancelot could I bear, and the Loss of Isobel, and the Loss of my curious Protector Lord Bellars, but the Loss of Belinda was the Blow of Blows. ’Twas the
Coup de Grâce
from which one ne’er rises above bended Knee save as a Wraith.

Seeing me weeping so, the Old Tar took Pity, bestirr’d himself from his Seat upon a Puncheon of Rum, and telling us not to go, but to wait upon him just there, he busied himself amongst the Sailors upon the Docks, querying them concerning some Matter I could not o’erhear.

I wept—first upon the Ground, then in Susannah’s tender Arms—whilst I silently swore to put a fatal Period to my wretched Existence by drowning myself in the Thames should Belinda not be recover’d.

The Tar came back, as promis’d, with the News that a Brigantine call’d the
Hopewell
was due to sail upon the next Tide for the Colonies. He had begg’d the First Mate of the Ship to take us along, he said, to which the Man had adamantly refus’d; but perhaps were we to prevail upon him ourselves—the old Tar said, looking Goats and Monkies at us—we should have better Luck. Moreo’er, since a Brigantine was a much speedier Sailor than a Merchantman, we should quickly o’ertake the
Cassandra
upon the Seas, or e’en, perhaps, catch her in the Downs, if she were detain’d there by contrary Winds, a not infrequent Occurrence.

I knew not Brigantine from Merchantman from Sloop from Schooner in my Ignorance of Sailing then, nor did I know a contrary Wind from a fair one, but this News so renew’d my Hope and rais’d my Spirits that, thanking the Tar profusely for his Pains, I took Susannah by the Hand and proceeded towards the First Mate of the
Hopewell.

He was a cantankerous Fellow, gruff, pockmarkt, Peg-legg’d; he lookt me and Susannah up and down as if he knew full well what lay ’neath our Petticoats and was having none of it. Behind him, I caught a Glimpse of the
Hopewell
, riding at Anchor upon the Water. She was two-masted, and seem’d a good deal smaller than the three-masted Merchantmen, but Sea-worthy enough to my unpractis’d Eyes.

“Please, Sir,” Susannah began without waiting for me. “Me Mistress’ beloved Babe hath been kidnapp’d an’ carried aboard the
Cassandra.
We must away to catch her. Pray, Sir, take Pity on two helpless Wenches an’ let us sail with ye….” (Susannah, who well knew how to be gruff when the Occasion demanded it, had also at her Command the most honey’d and beguiling Phrases when such were necessary. ’Tis clear that the Life of a Mulatto Slave creates such Virtuosity in the Face of Adversity. O I envied Susannah for her Guile, since surely it had help’d her to survive.)

“Dye an’ be damn’d,” said the gruff Seaman, spitting Tobacco Juice upon the Ground. “I’ll ’ave no Women aboard, makin’ Trouble amongst me Crew—the mutinous Dogs. With Women aboard, there’s nought but Brawlin’ in the Fo’c’sle, an’ Gamin’ on the Decks, an’ all Manner o’ Mischief in the Steerage.”

At this, Susannah’s Face fell and she lookt so pitiable that e’en a Hangman would have wept to see her.

“Don’t make such a Face, Lass,” says the First Mate of the
Hopewell
—“lucky ye are to miss a long Sea-Voyage. Why, ’ave ye e’er crackt a Biskit an’ found it full o’ Weevils, or et Meat so rotten ye had to hold yer Nose to chew it? Or wrapp’d yerself in an old bit o’ Sail ’gainst the Rats, or been drench’d to the Bone by a Storm at Sea? Why, pretty Wenches like the two o’ ye want none o’ that! Shipboard Life is hard, Lasses. Ye best stay ’ere in London an’ seek yer Fortunes!”

With that, Susannah fell to her Knees yet again and began to cry.

“An’t please ye, Sir,” said she, betwixt her Sobs, “we’ll e’en dress as Men an’ stay out o’ the Way o’ yer Tars, but ye must take Pity on us, fer me Mistress’ Heart is broken with the Loss o’ her Babe, an’ if ye’ll not take us aboard, she’ll sure perish o’ Grief.”

Most privily, Susannah took this Opportunity of being upon bended Knee to reach into the stuff’d Portmanteau and extract from it a jewell’d Necklace of glitt’ring Diamonds which Lord Bellars had given me during my Lying-in (and which I was utterly astounded to see, thinking it had long since gone to pay our Creditors!). Rising from her Knees, she convey’d it into the waiting Hand of the First Mate of the
Hopewell
, whereupon his Eyes widen’d in Greed, but he at first pretended Indiff’rence. Incredulous as I was at Susannah’s Cleverness in keeping this Bauble in readiness ’gainst, as ’twere, a rainy Day, I could scarce say a Word. What a splendid Wench Susannah was! Had the Management of our Affairs been left to me, sure not a single Jewel would have remain’d with which to barter for Belinda!