grog what’s knocking me sideways.’
At which her messmates gave a roar of delighted laughter and the nearest thumped her on the back. ‘Wait till we gets to the Bay a’ Biscay,’ he warned, grinning and showing a mouthful of brown teeth. ‘That’ll knock the legs from under yer.’
She didn’t like the sound of that at all, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him know it and answered him back boldly. ‘That’ll take more than some ol’ sea to knock me off my feet, I can tell ’ee.’ At which she was applauded and thumped between the shoulder blades again until her back was quite sore.
When she was woken for her next watch, the English coast had disappeared and they were on their own in a grey pitching sea with storm clouds louring overhead and no sign of land or life.
‘Is this the Bay a’ Biscay?’ she asked her messmates, when the morning chores had been done and they were sitting about their table sustaining themselves with steaming bowls of skillygalee.
‘Lord love yer, boy,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘It’ll be three, four days afore you sets eyes on that. We’m still in the Channel, my sonny, onny on the French side, which is to loo’ard, d’you see, where we’m blockading the beggars. We’m headin’ for Brest this time, to meet up with the Channel Fleet.’
One of the other ship’s boys instantly set about enlightening her further, counting off the beleaguered ports on his fingers, ‘We got ’empenned in all along the Channel,’ he told her. ‘Boulogne, Dieppe, Cherbourg, Brest, Lorient.’
‘Stow it, clever-clogs,’ Johnny Galley said, cuffing him about the ear. ‘We knows you knows. You won’t look so clever come the Bay a’ Biscay, let me tell ’ee. You’ll be hanging over the gunnels with the rest of us then.’
If he’s trying to worry us, Marianne thought, he’s making a good job of it. She didn’t like the sound of hanging over the gunnels at all. ‘Are we joining the blockade then?’ she asked.
‘No, my lubber,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘We’m to meet up with Admiral Cornwallis by the Black Rocks, what’s the admiral of the Channel Fleet.’
By now Marianne could see that this man liked to be the purveyor of information aboard and would take as many questions as she liked to ask, so she asked the next and obvious one. ‘Where’s the Black Rocks, Mr Galley?’
‘West-north-west of Brest, my lubber. Where else would they be?’
They rose out of a heaving sea, black as their name and looking decidedly treacherous. But there was no sign of a fleet or a flagship, and no sign of a port, nothing but a single frigate with all sails furled, rocking on the swell and waiting for them.
‘ Sirius is that,’ Johnny Galley told Marianne, when she and the other boys climbed down onto the deck again after reefing their own sails. ‘I sailed on her one time. She belongs to the Channel Fleet. Been left here with news for Admiral Nelson, I shouldn’t wonder, although they did say we was to be meetin’ with Admiral Cornwallis.’
The Amphion creaked and rocked as the rest of the fleet gathered and waited. The rocks glistened in the rising sun. Small waves slapped against their bows, spinning droplets of white spray across their newly scrubbed deck. A brazen pathway widened across the dark water. And presently a longboat put out from the frigate and was rowed across to the Victory , where her captain was piped aboard. Then another headed that way, and another, as the captains gathered, and the last of them was their own Captain Hardy, who set off with a highly satisfied expression on his face, doffing his hat to his watching crew.
‘Now they’ll talk,’ Johnny Galley said, ‘and then we shall know where we’m to go next, I daresay.’ Six bells was ringing. There was no more time for leaning over the gunnels and watching the fleet. ‘No peace forthe wicked,’ he said, grimacing at Marianne. ‘There’s work to be done, my lubber.’
She supposed that
At which her messmates gave a roar of delighted laughter and the nearest thumped her on the back. ‘Wait till we gets to the Bay a’ Biscay,’ he warned, grinning and showing a mouthful of brown teeth. ‘That’ll knock the legs from under yer.’
She didn’t like the sound of that at all, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him know it and answered him back boldly. ‘That’ll take more than some ol’ sea to knock me off my feet, I can tell ’ee.’ At which she was applauded and thumped between the shoulder blades again until her back was quite sore.
When she was woken for her next watch, the English coast had disappeared and they were on their own in a grey pitching sea with storm clouds louring overhead and no sign of land or life.
‘Is this the Bay a’ Biscay?’ she asked her messmates, when the morning chores had been done and they were sitting about their table sustaining themselves with steaming bowls of skillygalee.
‘Lord love yer, boy,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘It’ll be three, four days afore you sets eyes on that. We’m still in the Channel, my sonny, onny on the French side, which is to loo’ard, d’you see, where we’m blockading the beggars. We’m headin’ for Brest this time, to meet up with the Channel Fleet.’
One of the other ship’s boys instantly set about enlightening her further, counting off the beleaguered ports on his fingers, ‘We got ’empenned in all along the Channel,’ he told her. ‘Boulogne, Dieppe, Cherbourg, Brest, Lorient.’
‘Stow it, clever-clogs,’ Johnny Galley said, cuffing him about the ear. ‘We knows you knows. You won’t look so clever come the Bay a’ Biscay, let me tell ’ee. You’ll be hanging over the gunnels with the rest of us then.’
If he’s trying to worry us, Marianne thought, he’s making a good job of it. She didn’t like the sound of hanging over the gunnels at all. ‘Are we joining the blockade then?’ she asked.
‘No, my lubber,’ Johnny Galley said. ‘We’m to meet up with Admiral Cornwallis by the Black Rocks, what’s the admiral of the Channel Fleet.’
By now Marianne could see that this man liked to be the purveyor of information aboard and would take as many questions as she liked to ask, so she asked the next and obvious one. ‘Where’s the Black Rocks, Mr Galley?’
‘West-north-west of Brest, my lubber. Where else would they be?’
They rose out of a heaving sea, black as their name and looking decidedly treacherous. But there was no sign of a fleet or a flagship, and no sign of a port, nothing but a single frigate with all sails furled, rocking on the swell and waiting for them.
‘ Sirius is that,’ Johnny Galley told Marianne, when she and the other boys climbed down onto the deck again after reefing their own sails. ‘I sailed on her one time. She belongs to the Channel Fleet. Been left here with news for Admiral Nelson, I shouldn’t wonder, although they did say we was to be meetin’ with Admiral Cornwallis.’
The Amphion creaked and rocked as the rest of the fleet gathered and waited. The rocks glistened in the rising sun. Small waves slapped against their bows, spinning droplets of white spray across their newly scrubbed deck. A brazen pathway widened across the dark water. And presently a longboat put out from the frigate and was rowed across to the Victory , where her captain was piped aboard. Then another headed that way, and another, as the captains gathered, and the last of them was their own Captain Hardy, who set off with a highly satisfied expression on his face, doffing his hat to his watching crew.
‘Now they’ll talk,’ Johnny Galley said, ‘and then we shall know where we’m to go next, I daresay.’ Six bells was ringing. There was no more time for leaning over the gunnels and watching the fleet. ‘No peace forthe wicked,’ he said, grimacing at Marianne. ‘There’s work to be done, my lubber.’
She supposed that
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