Fair Winds and Homeward Sail: Sophy Croft's Story Read online

  Edward was so alarmed when he received this single sheet that he packed a bag, sent a message to his tutor, and quit Oxford. When he reached Deal, he used some of his scant money to summon a physician.

  The medical man spoke a great deal of Latin, and prescribed a regimen of calomel to regulate the humours, a diet of thin broth and fresh eggs and milk, and perhaps a visit to mineral baths.

  Sophy tried the medicine, discovering that it made her inward parts feel worse than she had on shipboard, and she quietly poured the subsequent doses into the fireplace. The diet left her hungry, but she wearily stayed with it until the day that Edward fetched the post for her, smiling under anxious eyes when he handed her a battered missive in whose direction she recognized the captain’s hand.

  With something of her old eagerness she tore the seal. The captain reported that he was well and had taken three prizes off Sweden, the manning of which with prize crews had put such a strain on his ship’s company that he was obliged to act as his own steward at his dinner table, and to brush his own coats before he took a watch. He expected to be ordered home soon.

  Sophy handed the letter to Edward, who was less interested in the words than in the reappearance of his sister’s smile.

  Over the next few days her color bettered, and Edward took it upon himself to bring better meals from the inn on the corner.

  “I know what it is,” she said at the end of that week, as the wind howled outside, blowing snow horizontally against the narrow windows. “I have ruined my own constitution by indulging foolish fancies, which turned into megrims. I have learnt better. Go back to your studies, Edward. I am perfectly well. I will engage to walk to the corner to fetch meals, if I do not want to cook.”

  He could see that she was stronger, and he heard the conviction in her tones. Much relieved, for he had finished all the work he had brought, as soon as the snows abated, he departed—and she insisted on hiring a post chaise for him. She would not countenance his submitting to a wearying journey freezing on the mail.

  They each promised to write every day, they embraced and he was gone, leaving her alone again. She set about resetting the seams of her gowns, as she had grown thin. And every day she made herself walk out.

  One showery day in spring she heard footsteps on the porch, and Captain Croft ducked his head under the low lintel as he pulled off his hat. She flew to him laughing and crying.

  “What is this?” he exclaimed, seeing her tears. “Have the French attacked? And here I thought of you safe and snug.”

  She shook her head, not wanting to complain, but he perceived how thin and wan she had grown. He did not comment upon that, but settled down in the chair she had set before the fire. Over the meal she had carried from the inn he related his adventures, finding that no detail was too much for her.

  They talked over the matters of wind, weather, ships, and men, and he remarked to himself once again how knowledgeable she had become. Then the thought struck him, and he exclaimed, “I am fifty kinds of a fool.”

  “No, my dear, that you are not,” Sophy stated fondly.

  “But I am. That is, some captains do not like women aboard, and many wives refuse, especially when children come along, which has not happened to us yet. But others take their wives, and no one is the worse for it—”

  Sophy brightened at once. “Oh!” she exclaimed, flinging herself into his arms. “The very thing!”

  He beamed at her, for he had missed her sorely. But the idea of his future comfort prodded him with apprehension, even guilt. “Well, then, that’s settled,” he said. “Sophy, I’m obliged to point out, that sailing in a man o’ war, well, the war with Boney seems to be over, but there are always pirates. When we strip to fighting sail and cast loose the cannon, there is no time for women to be put ashore, most like. Cannon balls are egalitarian in where they strike.”

  “I know that. And I cannot promise not to be frightened. But I will be with you, going shares in the danger. And perhaps I might even be helpful,” she returned fervently. “Altogether, I would prefer to face danger to this hideous waiting, and wondering, which is infinitely worse. Once the battle is over, it is over—but if I am here, it is months before I know you have safely come through.”

  “There is truth in that.” He nodded and clapped his hands to his knees. “Then that’s decided. For as soon as we paid off, new orders came in by semaphore. I’m ordered to Bermuda, as they fear the revolts against the French in their islands might spread. I am to take poor old new-razeed Blenheim out there, straight from Peter Bover’s hands, poor soul.”

  Sophy did not know what razeed meant, and knew she could ask. But it would be more interesting and satisfactory to find out while dealing with it together. And so, she vowed, they would go on. Whether they faced thirty foot waves in the North Sea or hurricanos in the south, she would never be parted from him again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “No, my dear, I’ll take the oars. You’ve enough to do,” Sophy said cheerfully.

  It was a brilliant day among the many islands around Bermuda, but all days were brilliant, excepting only when mighty storms blew through, bringing tearing winds. After these storms the weather would promptly return to summer. Sophy had loved spending Christmas wearing the lightest of muslins, and the thinnest cotton gloves that were not made for warmth, but to protect the skin from the fierce light that one could feel burning if one were not careful.

  She looked about her with deep pleasure; she had rowed out with the captain, who had taken his midshipmen out to the coral reefs to practice their hydrography by charting.

  How could something so beautiful be so dangerous? How could one describe coral? She gazed down through the clear water, once again wishing she had any skills at draughstmanship, so that she might depict these brilliant colors for Edward. Description was beyond her. “Lace? Snowflakes?” She was certain that any words she chose would read trite to someone far away in England, enduring the gray, cold winter.

  The boat rocked as the captain motioned to the boys to stay in a strict row in their coracles. Most of them paid attention, though sometimes stealing looks at the creatures flashing in and out of the coral, or making rude signs at one another. They were a good set of youngsters in the main, given to practical jokes when at liberty. Captain Croft wisely looked the other way, so long as strict attention to duty was paid when it was necessary.

  Sophy turned her head, and peered across the water to Ireland Island, where the ships lay, bare poles describing lazy parabolas against the azure brilliance of the sky.

  A loud crack in the distance was followed by an echoing boom of cannon fire. The boys glanced up hopefully, reminding Sophy of the bright red birds that hopped about on land, looking for insects and crumbs.

  “’Tis only the packet arriving,” Captain Croft said mildly, “expected these two weeks. Come, boys, you do want to finish for good and all, do you not? Or shall we begin anew tomorrow?”

  Horrified at this prospect, the boys assiduously paid attention, and the captain watched them, as Sophy gently corrected their course with a dip and a lean on her oars.

  Charting, she had learned, was no idle work, especially in such waters as these. The sea floor changed frequently, which was no problem when there was deep draft, but in shallow waters, with these wicked reefs, the danger was quite desperate, and good navigation as highly valued as good charts.

  The boat jiggled again, and Sophy glanced up under her bonnet, aware of the captain sending looks toward Ireland Island. She suppressed a question. He would speak if needed, and she would not distract him from finishing the lesson before the sun climbed any higher, and the heat became unbearable without the relief of shade.

  She had discovered that she loved the heat, as long as she could get under cover by afternoon when the sun glared off the water, creating heat so intense that the air shimmered. She gazed off toward headquarters, and made out signal flags jerking up the flagpole. When the last reached the top, a gun banged again, sending
echoes back and forth across the bay, and from a nearby island, a covey of cerulean-hued birds fluttered skyward, screeching in protest.

  Sophy dipped her bonnet to block the glare of the sun as the captain turned his head and squinted under his hand.

  Sophy said unerringly, “‘Captains report aboard flag.’”

  “Blast and damn,” the captain exclaimed, ignoring the smothered snickers of the middies. “And the admiral’s own orders to see this charting done.”

  “Then stay and finish,” Sophy suggested. “I’ll row back, and find out from Mrs. Cole what I can. If you need to make haste, I’ll put up our signal.”

  “A capital plan, my dear,” Captain Croft said, smiling.

  Sophy rowed the boat to meet the middle midshipman, who had the largest of the small boats. The captain climbed nimbly from the one to the other, and Sophy bent to the oars, sending herself scudding over the placid waters.

  It was hot work, but did not take her long. A servant waited to take charge of the boat. She pressed a coin into his hand from the reticule she had learned to always carry, and walked up the shore, under the welcome shade of orange trees. She sniffed in their sweet scent before passing below a calabash, and thence onto the porch of a whitewashed building in the Spanish style, with arched doorways.

  Mrs. Cole, a young bride newly arrived at the island, had relied upon Sophy to show her how to get on. Her husband, having like Admiral Nelson lost an arm, could not write, and his wife often acted as his amanuensis.

  She saw Sophy and rushed to her, thin muslin flounces fluttering. She glanced around and whispered, “The French have ended the peace. The admiral was right. Bonaparte never intended to keep it. Lord Whitworth is driven out, and your husband is to take command of the four second-rates and proceed back to Gib to join the fleet in blockading France. I just wrote out the orders—the ink is drying.”

  Sophy thanked her, and rushed to the dwelling she had lived in since their arrival. It had its own flagpole. To the clips she attached a green cloth, which would bring Captain Croft as quickly as he knew how.

  War! The easy life was over. They would return to military discipline; Mrs. Cole would be relegated to her salon, and her duties taken over by some young lieutenant. Sophy dreaded the prospect of being left behind. Suddenly the warm, pleasant breezes seemed hot and cloying, the palm fronds and banana trees noisome.

  But when Captain Croft returned, she discovered that he had no intention of leaving her at Bermuda. “The admiral is returning his wife to London, in case Boney has already sent a fleet against us here, so we will have Mrs. Cole as our guest. It seems the others are following along. We’ll have to spread the wives out between the four ships.”

  “You can safely leave the wives to me,” Sophy promised, to her husband’s relief.

  Instead of the old, leaking Blenheim, whose grand cabin had been dilapidated before Sophy was born, they had a fine 84 gun ship. Sophy was now an expert in fitting out the cabin the way she and the captain liked it. They sailed within forty-eight hours, the hazy green islands sinking below the horizon.

  Steady winds brought them day by day farther along their route, as steady as the shipboard routine ruled by bells. By the time they reached Gibraltar, they met with the astounding news that Boney had crowned himself not king—as everyone had predicted—but emperor! That meant one thing: he intended conquering more land, for an emperor requires many kingdoms to rule.

  So began the grindingly dreary process of blockading, which meant sailing in strict order, two cables’ lengths apart, back and forth, back and forth. They called it “polishing the Cape.”

  But though many in the fleet grew to hate this duty, especially as sails became worn from wind and weather, and greenstuffs difficult to procure unless the bumboats brought them, the Crofts were well content. And a content captain, with a vigorous lady who regarded the antics of bored young men with humor and understanding instead of shock and affront, guaranteed a happy ship.

  “I am well pleased with you, Captain Croft,” Nelson said in private after an all-captains conference, for he was once again in charge of the fleet. “I am beset by complaint all around me, but all you ask for is more cordage, and I assure you, that as soon as the dockyard at Gib can supply us, you will be the first served. If we can but bring the French out, I promise you shall gain your promotion. You ought to have had it this two years—if it had not been for Keith being my particular enemy, you would have had, but perhaps the least said the better about that.”

  Captain Croft thanked him, and so it came to pass.

  When they were ordered into the harbor to refit, they took turns peering at the fortress atop the mountain, deciding that they would walk up there the first chance they got.

  But scarcely had they dropped anchor when a small boat approached, and to their glad surprise, among those rowing out to see them was Frederick, peering up under his hand. Joy burned brightly in her heart, and she clutched at her husband’s arm lest she let the cry of happiness escape that she knew would disrupt the decorum of the quarterdeck.

  A fretful cross-wind had kicked up, causing the rowers some trouble. This gave time for Sophy to master her happiness, and to try to get some of the many questions running through her mind into some sort of order.

  Croft, seeing the intensity of her gaze under the brim of her bonnet, handed her his glass, which she applied expertly to her eye. The craft promptly leaped closer into view. Goodness, Sophy thought. What a handsome man my brother has grown into.

  She handed the glass back, and presently the craft neared enough for Frederick to make out those standing at the rail. When he spied his sister among them, his face broke into smiles.

  A short time later the three of them sat in the cabin. “I am here to tell you to avoid coming in, if you can. The Yellow Jack has broken out, and the hospitals are as full as they can hold. We need a few good storms to clean out the city.”

  The captain turned to Sophy. “Well, my dear, what say you?”

  She patted his hand. “We will not risk it. There will be time enough. And so, Frederick, what news do you bring?”

  “A letter is probably in that bag of post I saw sitting at Lt. Fellowes’ feet, but it is just this: Edward has come off with honors. His old friend Dr. Gregory has been looking out for him, and he has the promise of a curacy—two, though the one he hopes to get is at some small town, where he knows the vicar.”

  “Then that requires a toast, do you not think, my dear?” Captain Croft said, ringing for his steward.

  As they drank their warm champagne, Sophy prompted Frederick for his own news. He had been serving as premier aboard a 74, but he was hoping to return to frigate duty. “Even a sloop of war would do,” he said, hands on his knees. “If she is fast and weatherly, and I can be in command. You may do something for yourself with a frigate if you look about you, whereas these first and second rates, your life will spin away polishing the coast. I am sick of the sight of Cape Sicié.”

  “As are we all,” Captain Croft said with feeling.

  Frederick soon departed, for he had orders to execute for his captain, who had prudently remained aboard his own ship, preferring to risk the lives of his young officers to the contagion in the harbor.

  “It is typical of Frederick to be the first volunteer,” Sophy said to Captain Croft as they watched him row away. “I hope he will not catch the disease.”

  “Ah, he is a fine, strong young man,” Captain Croft said. “And he will no doubt stay where they have smoked the streets well in order to quell the contagion. And a nip of whiskey helps—it’s the fumes, you perceive.”

  “Very well,” she said, though she wondered if others had not also thought of well-smoked streets and whiskey. But she had learned that there was no stopping officers when they were determined upon their duty. And repining only made them decamp the faster. “He certainly has grown up tall and strong-looking,” Sophy said. “And well-spoken.”

  “Aye. He always was quick of wit,
and now he’s gained experience. If someone has the wit to promote him, why, he will bring Boney that much closer to defeat, mark my words,” he replied, patting her hand under his arm. “Come! Let us bustle about and get our ship away from the contagion as soon as ever we can, lest we have to smoke every deck.”

  A watch later, with their stores replenished, they sailed away, and Captain Croft had time to sort the post. “Here is your letter, my dear, just as Frederick said.”

  Sophy broke it open at once, and scanned rapidly down. “Monkford,” she exclaimed finally. “Have you been there? The curacy he desires is at Monkford.”

  “Never heard of it,” he replied cheerfully. “These towns sound one much like another. Now, if they were to name them after great admirals or captains, a man might recollect!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I think you had better go below, Sophy.”

  She studied her husband’s weather-browned face, and unerringly read the anxiety he would hide. She did not trust herself to words, but kissed him hard, an embrace he returned with such force she felt her spine crepitate under his hands, and the gold braid of his dress uniform pinched her abominably. Neither could acknowledge the intensity of their awareness that it could be their last, and so the strength of their arms must express everything.

  The men sent up a rousing cheer to see Mrs. Croft kissing their captain, looking resplendent in full dress, with his Nile medal in his buttonhole as he knew it pleased Nelson.

  But one must breathe, and besides, the cabin was gone, the deck full of gun crews stripped to the waist, the air full of the smell of slow match.

  Sophy let him go, did her best to smile at the men, and the midshipmen each at their posts in command of the gun crews. As she walked to the hatch, she sent up a prayer that she would not have to assist in writing letters home to parents of these dear boys. Then she whisked herself down to the orlop deck, as fast and nimble as a reefer, where she found the five ship’s wives gathered.