Ocean Soul
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“I will not,” was the curt response from the young midshipman who, as he stood at my door with a tray of hot bread and tea, had been instructed to inform me that I must put on a shirt. “Mr. Pryce wishes you to wear your uniform.”
“You are mistaken, Lieutenant,” I replied without taking my eyes away from the sea outside our stern windows. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting its rays far across the sea like so many burning fingers.
It glittered on the white swells and cast an unnatural glow over the deck as if it were still daytime. The crew had yet to be roused; most lay asleep below or on their hammocks lashed to the side of the ship.
Even the officers remained asleep on their bunks above us, except for Lieutenant Pryce, who was seated at his desk, bent over some charts. He did not look up. I could not see Captain Smith anywhere aboard the ship.
I was tired of this place: of these islands, the endless blue sea stretching before us, and this man. The lieutenant was one of those men whose presence makes life difficult; they stand too close, breathe too loud, and speak without thinking.
This young lieutenant was no exception to that rule: standing over six feet tall, with a round face that appeared to be carved out of stone, he exuded authority and superiority.
It is a peculiarity of naval officers’ uniforms that every inch of fabric seems to be sewn on by a different person. They are made up of a myriad of parts: the coat is worn over the waistcoat, the trousers and cuffs, the collar, and the hat.
There are so many pieces; and each one has a different color, pattern, or texture. Some are even cut slightly differently – as if designed deliberately to confound anyone who might want to steal them. It took me days to get used to wearing my own uniform.
To make matters worse, there was a difference between what we wore in port and on the open sea. On the ocean, all officers wore plain dark blue coats and trousers, but in port, they could wear whatever they wished. A few chose to dress plainly; others preferred silk scarves and cravats, fine lace collars, and gold buckles on their boots.
And while the rest of the British army had adopted grey uniforms to combat heat and fatigue, we navy men had stuck with our old blue, though the material differed considerably. Navy uniforms consisted mostly of cotton wool cloth, while the army used heavier woolen.
The latter was more durable but heavy enough to soak up water easily, rendering the wearer’s clothing useless for several hours after rain. In short, the navy uniform was better suited for fighting in warm climates than the armies.
For this reason, when the British army sent ships abroad, the sailors would wear their navy uniforms, and the soldiers their woolen ones. However, when the two forces came together, it was always the officers who changed into the other uniform. That way everyone knew exactly where they belonged.
The lieutenant continued to stare down at the desk as if expecting something else to appear from within the woodwork. “If you don’t hurry, sir, Mr. Pryce will send for you again,” he said with a frown. His voice sounded unnaturally loud compared to his size.
“He has no right to expect me to do anything in bedclothes!” I snapped back.
I looked down at myself; at the rumpled shirt and breeches. The lieutenant gave a slight shake of his head, but before he could reply I added, “Besides if I’m going to take part in exercises, I should have on my uniform. Otherwise, I’ll feel awkward.”
He hesitated; then turned to leave. “Very well, sir.”
As soon as he had left, I began to change. The lieutenant’s words rang in my ears long afterward. If I wasn’t careful, I could come to rely on him to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing. I had to resist becoming a slave to rules. No one could know my mind better than I did.
Once dressed, I returned to the stern windows and gazed out over the ocean once again. The lieutenant had been wrong about something else as well: I did not need to worry about the temperature in this cabin.
We were not on an open ocean, after all: we were sailing inside the bay that ran along the southern tip of St Helena Island. The waters were calm and flat, and the air was mild – perfect sailing weather.
I leaned against the rail and stared out, watching as a line of tiny dots sped across the surface of the waves: small boats carrying the islanders out to fish. They dived deep, then reappeared with their catch: a few writhing eels, a school of silver minnows, and a handful of large yellow-bellied mullet.
One of them held up a large fish that seemed to have no neck, its body wrapped around its head like a scarf. It was a bizarre sight. I had seen such a creature only once before, but never in this shape.
One of the fishermen waved, then dropped his catch back into the water before swimming toward me. He was a stocky little man who spoke quickly with an accent so thick I couldn’t understand half the words. After staring at my uniform, he said in English, “A ship?” Then he laughed and shook his head. “Not a very big one! You are not going to catch much.”
His laughter died away as I stood looking at him in silence.
“I am sorry,” he added, his tone softening somewhat. “I meant no offense.”
“No harm done.”
“You speak good English,” he remarked. “Where are you from, sir? What ship is that?”
“From England,” I replied.
His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. “England!”
“Yes. I am from the city of London.”
The fisherman looked down at himself and nodded his head. “Yes, sir, that makes sense. We are from St Helena too, but we were born here.” He looked up again. “You must be new, sir. You have not heard us talking about our great king and the war yet. I see why you think you’ve sailed off course; this is a very small island.”
I frowned slightly. He was right, there were no signs of any warship anywhere. “Do you know where I am bound?”
“No sir, not really. I was just going out fishing when I saw your ship coming in.”
I nodded. I was grateful he had come by when he had; otherwise, I might still be sitting in my cabin.
“Would you like to go out with me today and try to get some fresh fish? It is a nice day to be on the water. But if you don’t want to…”
“Thank you for the offer, but I have other plans.”
He stared at me for a moment, then gave a short laugh. “Ah… yes, of course, you do. A fine young fellow like you, always thinking of others before yourself. You won’t catch much out there though.”
“Perhaps not, but I will find something.”
He smiled broadly and bowed his head respectfully. “It would be a pleasure to be of service, sir.”
Then he swam back out to sea and disappeared from view.
***
There was nothing more to do until morning; there was no point in going ashore now. I spent the rest of the day gazing out over the ocean, hoping I wouldn’t run into a storm or a sudden squall. When the sun finally set and the stars came out, I went belowdecks and made my way to the officer’s mess to meet Captain Hoddinott.
The dinner bell sounded and we filed in through the door at the rear of the room. The tables were crowded full as usual, and we sat with the rest of the officers at one of the middle ones. As we waited for our food to arrive, I scanned the faces of the men sitting near us.
There were several familiar faces among them, including one who had been stationed in the same place I’d spent most of my time during the past month.
My thoughts drifted to the last few days and the conversation I’d overheard between Lieutenant Greenhill and one of his senior officers, the man named Mr. Smith. I wondered how they knew what was going on with my situation back in London. It wasn’t as though anyone else could possibly have known. No doubt I was being paranoid. Still, it felt good to be back on dry land.
Lieutenant Greenhill walked over to our table after we’d ordered our meals and joined us at the end. He was a tall man, lean and muscular, and dressed in a plain woolen tunic over a white shirt with a blue tie. His long dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders.
He was handsome in a hard-faced kind of way and had a quiet, almost shy manner about him. I liked the lieutenant, but not in a romantic sense. More like I respected and admired his courage and his strength. And I liked that he’d helped me escape when things were at their worst.
If I ever had children, I hoped they would grow up to be like him: strong, selfless, and loyal to their friends and country.
The captain sat next to me, a bottle of wine already opens in front of him. It was rare for him to drink—even when we were on shore leave, he rarely touched the stuff—but he seemed to take pleasure in having a glass or two tonight.
“Mr. Hoddinott,” he said, smiling. “What did you think of the fishing village? Did you happen to notice the old man who told you to keep an eye out for the ‘Great King’?”
The captain was referring to my first encounter with the fisherman on the beach. It had taken me only moments to realize that the word he used was in fact a reference to the British king, George II, but I’d never been able to figure out his exact meaning. At least now I knew that he referred to the current king of England.
“I noticed him,” I said with a smile, “and thought he seemed friendly enough.”
“That is good news! We’ve been trying to get a message to him since we arrived, but nobody has seen him around since we got here. He’s quite elderly, so it is possible he has simply passed on.” The captain sipped at the wine as though contemplating his next words. “But if he hasn’t died, then we may need to send someone ashore to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”
“I see…” I looked across the table at Lieutenant Greenhill. “Did you get a chance to speak with him again after I left?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t have the chance.”
I glanced at the captain.
He sighed. “I should have known better than to ask you to talk with him alone. I’m afraid we’ve been keeping our distance from this village and everyone in it ever since… well, you know.” He looked down for a moment, then took another sip of wine. “We don’t want them coming to any harm because of us, Mr. Hoddinott.”
“Of course, Captain,” I answered softly. “It would be my pleasure.”
The meal consisted of roasted lamb chops, vegetables, and fresh bread. The bread was still hot when they brought it out—the kitchen crew must have just baked it—and we all dug in ravenously while I thought about what I should say.
I wasn’t sure how much of a secret I wanted to keep. I hadn’t even shared this information with my family yet, let alone with Lieutenant Greenhill or Mr. Smith. I was tempted to tell them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. My own mother might have died without knowing what was going on—how could I be sure that she wouldn’t suffer for it? I couldn’t.
And there were still plenty of others whose lives were being put at risk by what I knew—or more importantly, what I didn’t know. If the king of England learned that I knew he was planning war against France and that his brother, Louis, also knew, then they would both feel obligated to warn the French king, which would undoubtedly result in an invasion.
And that would spell disaster for us all. The British were not ready for such a battle. We needed time to prepare, but the king would not give it to us.
As I chewed slowly on a piece of lamb that tasted delicious despite its tenderness, I wondered what I could do. What would happen if the king’s brother found out? Would he try to kill me? Or worse, the captain and the rest of the crew?
My mind drifted back to our conversation in the captain’s cabin on the ship before we left port. “You’re right, Mr. Hoddinott,” he had said. “If anyone else knows what you know, then you will have to keep your mouth shut.” He’d stared directly into my eyes. “Or you will find yourself facing a firing squad.”
He looked away as he spoke, then finished with the following words: “There are some secrets that cannot be revealed, Mr. Hoddinott—not unless you wish to end up dead.”
I swallowed hard and tried to imagine that he was talking about something different. I couldn’t. That night he’d been very clear about what I would lose by telling people about the king’s plans. If I didn’t reveal what I knew, then I would become part of history—history with a capital “H.” But it was also true that, if I did tell someone, it could put their life at risk.
I’d decided to keep quiet, but there were still so many things I didn’t understand. How could King George be so stupid, so shortsighted, as to plan to attack France? Did his advisers really think that Britain would win the coming war?
Why did he want to go to war with France anyway? And why did he need to make the whole world believe that the French were evil, treacherous enemies? Couldn’t he have chosen someone other than Napoleon Bonaparte as the scapegoat? Wasn’t it possible that the French weren’t really so bad? I could easily picture them living peacefully in the country where my father was born.
I chewed my food as the crew around me chattered excitedly. The meal ended too soon, and I rose from my seat, thanking everyone for their hospitality. Before leaving, I stopped by one of the servants in the corner of the room. She bowed slightly in greeting and asked, “Are you able to spare a moment, sir?”
I nodded, smiling, and sat back down at the table. “What can I do for you?”
She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “There is a young lady who has come here from London,” she began. “A girl named Elizabeth.”
I blinked rapidly in surprise. “Yes,” I replied slowly, hoping I’d heard wrong. “Was she looking for me?”
“No, sir,” the servant answered quickly. “But she seemed to be searching for someone.”
I shook my head. “Is that unusual?”
The maid looked down and then smiled apologetically. “Well, perhaps not so unusual, but…” Her face suddenly went pale. “Sir!” she exclaimed. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt you like this, but the gentleman you met just a few moments ago—”
“Mr. Hoddinott,” I interrupted, smiling in remembrance. “You told him that his friend, Captain William Pitt, was here in the palace?”
The woman nodded eagerly. “That is correct.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, wondering why the girl had come seeking him. Perhaps he was staying in town until his ship returned to England. “Tell me everything that you remember of her.”
“Well,” she started, glancing over my shoulder toward the dining hall. “As you may recall, we spoke together for quite a while. At first, she seemed…well, rather distraught. She kept asking the name of someone who lived in the city. I assumed it must have been a member of the royal family.”
I nodded in understanding. Most noblemen had many names; they might have several official ones, depending on their rank.
“At one point,” she continued, “she asked if anyone from England had been in contact with Queen Anne since her coronation. She seemed concerned that the queen wasn’t receiving enough letters from her subjects.”
“And then?” I prompted when she paused.
The maid shrugged. “Afterward, she seemed to get happier. More cheerful. She talked about being a princess, and how much she liked riding horses, especially those belonging to her mother or sister.”
“So she likes horses,” I muttered softly. “How interesting.”
The woman gave me a quizzical look, then realized what I was thinking. “Of course, sir!” she insisted quickly. “It’s just…well, it is rather odd that a young girl with such an interest in horses should travel alone to the royal residence.”
I frowned, shaking my head. “I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted.
I wondered if that had anything to do with the secret I’d learned during our conversation. But I pushed all thoughts of her aside, deciding it best not to share any more information until I understood exactly what Mr. Hoddinott had done, and why he had done it. Besides, it didn’t really matter now. After all, I was leaving tomorrow.
I thanked the servant again, then left the room. The hallways were filled with people hurrying in all directions. I hurried through the crowded halls, trying to avoid bumping into anyone, but it seemed impossible to escape the hustle-bustle of life in the palace.
I made it out onto the street outside without running into any trouble. A brisk breeze greeted me when I emerged onto the cobblestone walkway. I pulled up the hood of my cloak—something that would have been unthinkable even ten years earlier—and walked down the street, headed toward my quarters.
I arrived at the inn before sundown and found the front door unlocked. It was strange for the staff to leave their posts without telling someone, but then again, I rarely knew where my own staff members were going.
I walked through the common room, which was empty except for a few men sitting around the tables playing cards. I stepped into the kitchen, which also remained empty. Then I made my way up to my room, taking care not to slam the door behind me.
I locked the bolt securely and turned to close the door, only to see a small shadow move along the wall. I froze, staring down at the intruder, who stood there silently in the shadows.
I stared at the dark form for several seconds, my eyes widening when I finally realized who it was: Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth!” I cried out with excitement. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with your father! How did you know where to find me?”
The girl looked up nervously. “My mother sent me,” she murmured as I approached. “She said it would be better if we met somewhere other than the palace.”
I took a deep breath. “Well, that makes sense,” I said after a moment’s thought. “After all, this is hardly the place to meet.”
We both jumped when there was a loud knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I called out irritably.
“The lady Elizabeth!” a voice replied, followed by a muffled laugh. “Is she indeed your guest?”
I groaned. Of course, they’d heard us. “Yes,” I said, turning back to Elizabeth. “But I’m afraid that you will have to remain in here for the evening. They’ve probably been watching every room in the place.”
“Oh,” she sighed, stepping back toward the bed, which was pushed against a window. “I suppose that makes sense.”
I glanced up, surprised to hear the girl sound disappointed. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll make sure you’re well hidden once night falls.”
“Thank you,” she replied softly. “If you would just let me in…”
I opened the door and gestured toward the stairs. Elizabeth climbed them carefully, keeping her gaze lowered so as not to give herself away to anyone lurking in the hallway. When she reached the top, I closed the door quietly behind her and locked it tight.
I led her over to one of the beds—the one I usually slept on, though this time I pulled back the covers and turned down the sheets before climbing under them myself. “You can stay here tonight,” I explained as I pulled the blankets up around my shoulders. “Then tomorrow, if you feel up to it, you can come with me back to the palace.”
There was a pause before she spoke. “Why?” she asked, staring up at me curiously.
I smiled at her. “I thought we could get to know each other a little better while waiting for my uncle.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, yes! That would be wonderful! If my father would allow it…” She trailed off suddenly, looking confused. “Didn’t your father die in battle?” she asked quietly, as if afraid of my answer.
I nodded slowly, still smiling. “He died in an ambush,” I told her as gently as possible. “His horse broke his neck—just like he said it would.” I hesitated. “He said it was his destiny,” I added, almost to myself.
The girl stared at me in disbelief, her expression hardening into something cold and determined. “How horrible…to be trapped forever on earth, knowing what death will do to you.”
I frowned. “That’s not how things work, Elizabeth. No matter how hard the circumstances, we must always strive to reach our destination in life—to live out whatever plan God has set for us.”
The girl snorted derisively. “Amen,” she muttered sarcastically. “I think that’s what your father used to say too.”
I felt a lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. “No, he didn’t.”
It was the first honest thing Elizabeth had ever said about my father. And now her words were echoing inside my head, drowning out everything else that had been happening.
For some reason, that single sentence hurt more than anything else Elizabeth had ever said or done. For the past five years, since my father’s death, I’d tried desperately to hold back my anger over all the lies she’d told, her constant mocking tone, and her general lack of respect for my father—even though all I wanted was to see her dead.
But hearing the truth from Elizabeth’s mouth—and seeing the look in her eyes—was almost more than I could take.
“Your father wasn’t perfect, Elizabeth,” I said quietly, trying to ignore the burning pain in my heart. “But he did love you. And even if you can’t admit it, I know that you loved him too.”
The girl was silent for a long time, gazing up at me with a sad smile—one that showed her pain. Finally, she spoke again, her voice filled with sorrow. “I guess I really don’t need to stay any longer.” She stood up. “I’d hate to make your family suffer any longer.”
She turned and started slowly descending the stairs.
And then I saw it: her hand move slightly, brushing against mine as she passed. It was a fleeting touch, but enough for me to know what it meant. Elizabeth had been touching me since I’d brought her home that night…but never with such purpose.
For the first time in my life, I was touched by Elizabeth’s love, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The End