He let his eyes fall shut.Six hours ago he had been on the dark, airless orlop deck, tumbling from his hammock, chased by the bosun’s whip.Groping his way in the darkness, with two hundred other men, towards another day under the sharp eye of the officer of the watch.
Now he was ashore.No lash, no bosun’s starter.His spirits lifted.
It was less than half an hour later when Solomon appeared around the bushes, a bundle of clothes under his arm.Jed scrambled to his feet, the knot of fear in his chest finally loosening.
Solomon was out of breath.
“The press gang is out in these parts,” he announced.“The word is they came down from Bristol in a tender yesterday and set up their Rondy at the Blacksmith’s Arms in Minehead.They already pressed ten men this morning, or so I was told.”
Jed’s heart turned over.He had been worried about theNonsuchsending a signal onshore to spread the news of an escaped seaman.But this was worse.Minehead was just across the bay from here, an easy journey in a swift Naval tender.The shoreline would be crawling with gangers, swarming over the coastline like maggots over old meat.
There would be a midshipman or lieutenant, and a band of strong men with clubs and cutlasses, scouring the countryside for any unwary man who might be said to ‘use the sea,’ as the law put it.That was how Jed had been pressed in the first place, five years ago.Hit over the head while picking cockles on the stony beach of the village where he’d lived his whole life.
“Where did they press the men this morning?”he asked.
“At Huntspill.Leastways, so the woman who sold me the breeches said.Her own menfolk have already cleared off to her sister’s further inland to lie low until the gangers leave the neighbourhood.”
“They have the right idea of it,” Jed said grimly.
Solomon crouched, opening the bundle and spreading out its contents.As well as a pair of buckskin breeches, worn but clean, there was also a pair of worsted stockings, some broken-down old shoes, and a rough square of brown felt that could be fashioned into a hat.
“You never got all that for six bob,” Jed said, half pleased and half dismayed.
“Well… no.It was a tanner over.But I couldn’t let you go barefoot at this time of year.There’s frost in the mornings still.”When Jed began to rummage in his pocket for sixpence, Solomon said quickly, “Let’s not linger here so close to the shore.I feel like the press gang’s tender could heave into view at any minute, and I’ve no desire to fall into their hands.”
Neither had Jed.He scrambled into the clothes.As he settled the hat on his head, he looked the other man up and down.
Solomon lounged against the hedge, his hands in his pockets.Only the tension around his eyes betrayed the anxiety that Jed also felt.
Jed’s gaze lingered on Solomon’s frame: tall and wiry, not particularly broad-shouldered but sturdy nonetheless.Even if the man had never been to sea in his life, he was exactly what the Navy wanted: a labouring man, young and healthy—and damned handsome, not that the Navy cared about that.
“You’re not from these parts, are you?”Indeed, that much was obvious from his accent.“Where are you bound?”
“Barnstaple,” Solomon said.“I was planning to follow the turnpike road to Bridgwater, and maybe hitch a lift there.But I lost my way.”
“I wouldn’t go by Bridgwater, if I were you.There’ll be a press gang lurking under every bridge if they’re out in force, and Bridgwater is where the high road goes through.”
“You know the roads hereabouts?”
“I was a carrier before I was pressed.Had my own horse and cart.I’ve been to and fro across the Levels many a time, and up over the moors.I know all the highways and byways.”
“Then it may be as you can set me on the right road?”
Jed came to a quick decision.Barnstaple was only twenty miles or so from his own village.And travelling in company was usually safer than travelling alone.“I can do better nor that.I’m going nigh on the same direction as you.Come along of me, and I’ll show you the way.Repay you the service you’ve done me.”
Solomon studied him for a moment.His eyes were cool and grey.Then he shrugged, his lips twitching into a little smile that warmed his eyes.
“All right.Why not?Thank you.”
They shook hands on it.
“In that case, you’d best keep the blanket for now,” Solomon added.“Put it about you in guise of a coat.”His gaze ran over Jed—who had to repress a sudden, foolish wish that he was in his Sunday finery—and his half-smile widened into a warm grin.“They won’t take you for a seaman, but a vagabond.”
Jed grinned back.“If any man likes to run me out of his parish for vagrancy, he’s welcome to do it.I’m going back to my own parish.”
And so he was.As they set off walking, his heart was light.He was master of his own destiny again at last.
Chapter Two
