Following dinner, before dessert was served, I asked to be excused, saying I wished to visit with a woman currently in the dispensary.
“Oh, I trust there’s no contagion; we must be careful of Henry and Beth.” Mrs. Bent glanced anxiously towards Mr. Arnold, who had been invited to join our table for the evening meal.
“No, ma’am,” replied he, and, looking towards Captain Pasco, muttered, “’tis unlike her ailment is catching.” Both gentlemen smirked, thoughnone but I understood their humour. Blushing prettily, I arose and departed the cuddy. On the way to the dispensary, I visited the captain’s cook and requested he make up a bowl of caudle, of which I’m sure you, Aunt, are aware of the ingredients. Not long after, the cook’s boy delivered the caudle. The mixture of herbs, thin gruel, ale, and honey was most fragrant. Harshita eagerly supped from the bowl; the sustenance restored her spirits, it being now some nine hours since the onset of her pains.
Six bells—now seven o’clock. For Harshita, I could tell the intensity of her pains had increased. There was no comfortable position. Often, she stood and paced the small cabin—muttering, groaning, grumbling. Could I, a young, impeccant woman of a different race, so far above her in rank and society, yet so young of age, provide solace? Beyond this, there was nothing I could do; I was committed. I was in the middle before I knew I had begun.
Harshita began to strain, but I wished her not to push hard. For I had read that if the mouth was not opened wide, the head of the babe would push against it; the skull would widen, and the babe become stuck. Her pains were now continuous. We moved her from the floor to the cot and then back to the floor. Her breathing was heavy, laboured. The throes came back-to-back, incessantly. Harshita just wished to sleep, but her pains were so strong all she could do was take some little rest between them. She gripped my hands; her nails, though worn short, cut into my palms.
Eight bells sounded the end of the First Watch, from eight o’clock to midnight. Time slipped by. I realised that, off and on, both Harshita and I had dozed fitfully. With Harshita lying on the barrel, rocking herself, there came a sudden flush of water; the sac had broken! I almost panicked; the babe was soon to come. But first, I sought to reassure myself (and Harshita) that the mouth of the womb was sufficiently enlarged to allow the babe passage. Harshita was moaning almost continuously.Washing my hands again, I sought the mouth of the womb through Harshita’s sheaf. Now I could easily insert four fingers; then, a strong pain and the babe’s head filled the space. The mouth of the womb cleared; the babe could enter the birth canal.
Harshita still crouched on her knees, her arms draped over the mattress and barrel. She was too tired to stand—this is how the infant would enter our world! “Aai!” Harshita cried; she was calling for her mother. I rubbed her back and leant against her to give her my small measure of comfort. Sgt. Monogan looked through the canvas curtain, drawn by her anguished cries. “Take her hands!” I cried, “Now is the time for succour and support. She births your child.” Harshita cried out, but her cry was not the sound of terror but of release.
Abruptly, the pains seemed to fade away. Harshita pushed, but the infant was ejecting itself. Between her bent legs, I saw its down-covered head appear, purple, wrinkled, moist with residual waters from Harshita’s womb. Harshita turned. With the mattress unrolled from the barrel, she lay back as I placed the babe, a boy, on her chest. Oh, to see her smile and laugh as the babe cried its affront at its being cast from the warmth of its mother’s body. We wrapped it in blankets, and, taking some strong sisal twine, bound the umbilical cord and cut it with my small knife, separating mother and child for the first time since the infant formed in the womb.
Dear Aunt! I stayed with Harshita for the next two hours. She delivered herself of the sponge, or afterbirth, which I had the surgeon’s servant throw overboard. Sgt. Monogan all this while stayed with her, helped her place the infant to her breast, and suckle the rich milk of the newborn. My role was done. Now four bells: two o’clock in the morning.
For several days thereafter I lived in fear that Harshita would succumb to childbed fever, but my fears were unfounded; both sheand the babe thrived. We’re now nearing Madeira, where the convoy intends to anchor for a week. I shall seal this letter and trust the British Consul to forward it on the next packet.
Once we come ashore on Madeira, I shall write to Mama and Mary. If you write to them before this time, please say I’m very well and that I miss them greatly. Of course, I greatly miss you and Uncle Gardiner, as well as my little cousins—tuck them snugly beneath their bed covers and smother them in kisses from me.
Your affectionate niece, Elizabeth.
Chapter 7
Madeira, June 12, 1809
Darcy ascended to the quarterdeck to hear the band play ‘God Save the King’. Today was the 4th of June, His Majesty’s birthday. Captain Pritchard was determined to celebrate the occasion in the proper manner but failed to take into account the strong, fresh breeze and a very high sea.
“I admire Captain Pritchard’s desire to honour His Majesty, but Poseidon, the god of the sea, may prove uncooperative.” Colonel O’Connell came to stand with Darcy at the taffrail, looking down at the sailors and soldiers of the regiment assembled on the upper deck. Just as the band commenced playing, theDromedarylurched when a heavy wave struck, throwing the band against the leeward taffrail to the great amusement of those gathered beneath them.
“Well called, colonel.” Darcy turned away from the band, the members of which were now struggling to descend to the upper deck and thence to stow their instruments. “We should have reached Madeira by now, but little progress has been made—we go off our course in pursuit of every Sail we see.”
“Indeed, Commodore Pasco is intent on taking a prize. We lose many a fair breeze and encounter many a foul one.”
Just then, the lookout atop the crow’s nest called out that a strange sail was in sight, standing northwest. At a signal from theHindostan,the small convoy turned to make chase, theOxfordcoming close to theDromedary, safe under the latter’s 24 guns, and theHindostanleaning severely against the wind before taking up the lead to run down its quarry. After some hours, during which the decks were cleared for action, theHindostancame up to the fleeing vessel, which did not heave tountil some three shots from the nine pounders were fired. All this time, Captain Pritchard remained on the quarterdeck, ready to render assistance. After boarding, they ascertained the vessel was theGustuvas, flying Swedish Colours.
At dinner that evening, Captain Pritchard was jubilant. “I was asked by the commodore to send a prize crew aboard to take her to Portsmouth; what a fine gentleman he is to lend me such distinction. She’s a good ship, copper-bottomed, of three hundred and fifty tons, American under false colours, taken by a French privateer some five days ago. Laden with a cargo of cotton and rice from St. Bartholomew’s in South Carolina, bound for Liverpool. I’m sad to say, a slave’s cargo, but worth some fifty thousand pounds.Each passenger,” he beamed at those attending his table, “may receive ten poundsand upwards.” Darcy nodded appreciatively but knew that Captains Pritchard and Pasco would share three-eighths of the prize between them—some nine thousand pounds each. A tidy sum for only five hours of exertion, though tainted by being the product of slave labour.
The gale continued to increase, so much so that, once night fell, the ships lay under bare poles, kept in contact with lanterns and bells hung from the yards. The celebration of the King’s Birthday had been abandoned, but the crew were jubilant when word spread that all sailors would share in the prize—in response, they drank to the health of King George, buoyed by a double ration of spirits.
The sea ran very high until, some seven days later, the convoy came close to the island of Madeira. In the afternoon, they sighted the island, but the commodore abandoned hopes of reaching the Funchal Roads before dark and continued under sail till eight bells, then hove to. At first light, they made sail and ran by the Desertas Islands—barren, desolate, uninhabited—the ships now lying some seven miles southeast of Madeira Island itself.
On board theHindostan, Captain Pasco roused up the passengers to take a view of land, which they were all anxious to see after the violence of their journey. Mr. and Mrs. Bent, Elizabeth, together with Hannah and the children, ascended to the quarterdeck to gaze across the Roads towards Funchal, the principal town of the island.
“Oh, ain’t it a lovely sight, proper pretty it is, if I may say so, miss.” cried Hannah.
The ship cast anchor a mile from shore. The morning was rather hazy, but the bright morning sun was striving to evaporate the lingering mist. Suddenly, the stillness of the day was shattered by theHindostanfiring fifteen guns in salute, which were answered by the same from shore. Echoes reverberated across the bay; seagulls rose, screeching from the rocks and cliffs bordering the bay.
“It’s one of the finest prospects I ever beheld.” Mr. Ellis spread his arms to encompass the view before them. He continued with much admiration, “You can at one view see the white walls of country houses and churches interspersed between the vineyards. Look, those are groves of chestnut and walnut trees.”
All were deeply impressed by the vista. One of the most conspicuous buildings was the church of Nossa Senhora do Monte, the Lady of the Mount, which served as a landmark for those approaching and leaving the island—it was the church of the saint who protects sailors across the angry waves of the deep Atlantic Ocean. Above the settled area, the hills—or mountains, rather—were very steep and irregular. “The highest mountain,” stated Captain Pasco, who came to stand with them, “cannot be less than a mile perpendicular from the sea. Often, the tops of the hills are hidden, wrapped in the clouds.” He turned to Mr. Bent.
“We gentlemen and those aboard theDromedarywilldisembark first and pay our respects to the British Consul, Mr. Veitch. Once we understand our disposition, we’ll bring the ladies and children ashore to be accommodated either with the Consul or with General Meade, the Commander of the British Forces here.”
He then spoke most seriously. “Wherever you are on the island, please keep an eye towards the ship. This harbour is very poor, being only a shallow bay open to the southern Atlantic. If a swell comes up, ships can be dragged onto the rocks. If the winds do shift south, we’ll depart immediately, for even theHindostan, large as she is, isn’t safe. A flare will be lit, and you must hurry, without delay, back to the vessels.”
With this injunction, the captain accompanied Mr. Bent to his barge and they made their way to theDromedaryanchored nearby.
