~ Ten ~
THIS EXPERIENCE HAD TAKEN THE gentle spirited Heather and reshaped her. She felt an anger spur her into bravery. She was ready for a fight, come what may. It was with some authority that she finally said, “That is it, Bunky, no more. We shall suffer no longer.”
“What mean you, Miss Heather?” Bunky grumbled as he tried to stretch out in his cramped position.
“Listen to me, young man. Night has turned into day and day into night. We are weak with hunger. There is a stench…even our own stench in this awful compartment. We will die of starvation and thirst if we stay here, so we will not stay here any longer. Do you hear me? Will they make us walk the plank? My instinct says no. This is not a smuggler’s vessel. If it was, we would have already reached an English port and been done. No, this is a private vessel bound no doubt for the Indies. We cannot stay here any longer. Sooner or later, they will need grain, so we might as well show ourselves now.”
“Aye then, I’ll not argle-bargle with ye if ye be that determined. Might as well get it all over with. Like ye say, they are bound to find us here anyway. Mayhap if we come clean and offer to do a fair share of the work above?” he answered in a resigned tone.
“Indeed, for if we are to be fed to the sharks, so be it, but I think, as you say, we can offer to work.”
Bunky climbed up on a pile of sacks and pushed the hatch door. It opened wide with a loud squeaking sound and then thumped onto the decking.
Evening was upon them, but even so, there was still enough light that came through the opening, causing both he and Heather to shield their eyes for the moment. After he acclimated to the dim light, Bunky pulled himself up by his forearms and peered out. He released a sigh of relief to find no one in their immediate vicinity. He slid back down and turned to Heather and whispered, “There now…” He gave her his hand. “Use me knee as ye pull yerself up.”
Heather was determined not to show any signs of the fatigue and weakness she felt. She took hold of his hand, noting to herself how tightly he held her, how determined he was to make certain he aided her ascent. He had such a good heart, she thought.
She hoisted herself up by planting a foot on his thigh and allowing him to shove her upward. She slapped her hands onto the decking and dragged herself the remainder of the distance, lying flat there as she recouped. Luckily, she lay in the shadows and knew she looked more like an eerie blob than a woman.
A French crewman standing some space away made a sound and Heather knew he would find them. She watched as he put a hand to his heart and said, “Nom de dieu!”
Heather closed her eyes as she scurried backwards, further into the shadows. This was the moment of truth. Would the Frenchman shoot?
Her swift and unexpected movement sent Bunky off balance. He let go a howl, quite unnerving to her ears, as he fell back into the hole.
In French, the crewman exclaimed that only a demon could sound like that, while Bunky’s fall left him face to face with a rodent. He exclaimed indignantly that he was ready, quite ready to meet his maker, as this had become more than flesh and blood could bear.
Heather hushed him.
Bunky found renewed vitality and left the rodent behind him as he scurried out of the open hatch. He landed on his belly beside Heather with an “oomph.”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Heather said on a hushed note.
This series of unexpected and unprecedented phenomena astonished and horrified this particular crewman, who apparently, Heather discovered from his exclamations, was superstitious. He seemed riveted in place, his hand still on his heart and screeching enough to bring down sailors from an ocean away, “Ici! Bon dieu ! Ici! Capitaine! Ici, Louis…Satane!”
Apparently the Louis he called had heard him and came hurriedly towards him. Louis, taking no chances, called for others to join them.
Other crew members came jesting with one another, robustly teasing their screeching and horrified mate.
Louis, a large and amiable looking sailor, said with some affection, “Eh? Saucisse…what is the matter? You will disturb the captain while he dines.”
Heather’s schoolroom French was something she had on occasion practiced with her father. She was quite good and was fortunate enough that his words immediately translated themselves in her brain.
However, Bunky was roused by the commotion to ask, far too loudly, if they were done for. She put a hand over his mouth and whispered, “Not yet.”
“Aww, miss…they be laughing. No doubt in their cups and even more ready to throw us to the sharks. That is how it goes,” Bunky declared as soon as she removed her hand from his mouth.
“Oh, Bunky dear, do be quiet.”
It was then that two other crew members pointed and told the others that there were indeed two devils crawling about on their bellies in the dark.
It was then Heather noticed a change in the gathered assembly of crewmen, a change in their jesting demeanor. One of them pointed and said, “Mon dieu…mais non!”
Heather started up. They had been seen. No sense trying to hide in plain sight.
“Capitaine!” another sailor shouted, looking at Heather now standing only a few feet away and breathed with disbelief, “Mon dieu…I think it is…non, but it is…a woman!”
“What did he say?” Bunky, now at her side, asked. “Are they going to throw us overboard?”
“Not yet,” Heather answered as she moved closer to the sailors, who were obviously afraid and crossing themselves, stepping backwards.
She spoke in French to them, “Sirs, I think it best that you indeed call your captain calmly, or if you prefer, you may take us to him.”
The three Frenchmen gazed at her as though they thought themselves seeing and hearing what couldn’t be right in front of them. Louis’ eyes seemed to pop, Heather thought as she watched and waited.
They turned to one another and began arguing heatedly, but this was cut short when their captain, looking irritated and impatient, stepped forth and demanded to know what all the howls and commotion was about.
He appeared to Heather as no less confused by what he saw than his men had been, but as he immediately took charge, she assessed him as far better able to cope with their sudden intrusion on his peace.
“What have we here?” he asked in his native tongue as he looked over the two stowaways.
Heather braced herself, drew a breath, and answered in French, “I beg your pardon, monsieur. My friend and I have had a series of mishaps, and quite unintentionally came to seek momentary refuge on your vessel while you were docked in port. Tired from our…mishaps, we unfortunately fell asleep and…well…” Heather began to falter at the captain’s utter look of incredulousness.
“Aha,” the captain offered and then in English, “allow me to address what is obvious. You are English, though you speak a decent French, still that I can say. Also, though you are ragged, it is obvious that you are not a peasant, but born to the English gentry…is that not so?”
Heather inclined, “Yes…”
He hurriedly interjected, “You are also quite exceptionally beautiful…even in your dirt, so that lends the question, what kind of mishaps and what the devil are you doing on my schooner?”
“Here is the thing. We don’t want to be here,” she offered. “But…”
Irritated, and already envisioning a problem, no doubt with her family, he cut her off, “Nor do I want you here. Are you trying to say that someone on my vessel has taken you against your will and kept you here?”
Heather was now close enough to see his eyes in the dim light of the nearby torchlight. There was a kindness in those depths. “Indeed, how unhandsome it would be of me to suggest such a thing. No, I merely meant that through awkward circumstances we have come to a point where we are at your mercy.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “What utter nonsense to be sure. However, allow me to proceed with first things first. I, mademoiselle, am the Comte de Brabant and captain of this ship.” He turned at that point as Heather’s eyes shifted towards a sound.
That sound—the rustle of a silk skirt.
The captain’s brow rose and he grinned at his sister’s expression. Louise Davenant stood, her cashmere shawl tightly wrapped around her well-shaped shoulders, and her expression of doubt quite evident as she said, “Maurice? Who is this woman and this boy?”
“As it happens, my dear,” he answered her in English, and Heather noted the surprise on the woman’s face. “I have not as yet discovered the answer to such a pertinent question. Come, let us all retire to my cabin and uncover the secrets of this affair.”
Heather turned to Bunky and smiled reassuringly, for she could see her companion was still looking about himself with some trepidation. “There now, Bunky, they won’t throw us to the sharks after all.”
The captain evidently heard this remark, stopped and roared with laughter. “Indeed, resty easy…er…Bunky, I have no intention of feeding you to the fish.”