Full story so far can be found at… https://www.wattpad.com/1380331844-1861-authors-notes
Dover. Kent. England. 1864.
Journal of Harriet Wootten. November 26th. 1864
Waters chop, churn, angry in the mix, tide rapid on turn, clouds bulging heavy, dark, ready to burst, forecasting gale and storm for anxious watchman alert on the many clippers, brig, schooner and sloops plying trade up and down the nautical route of that great British moat…The English Channel.
English, French, Dutch, Dane flags and ensigns snapping angrily in roaring wind as they tack like worried ducks towards closest sanctuary and safe anchorage…Neptune’s wrath, a mighty gale threating to begin.
The Bombay following the many heading towards The Downs…Calmer sea, haven urgent need, laying between the shifting sandbanks of Goodwin Sands and the many reef and rock protruding like teeth beneath the wall of white cliffs marking Kent.
As we huddled in cabin ever frightful more, Captain Sellars shadow passed our open door, a step to the rear the Boatswain, the stern Mister Williams.
The Captain turned sharp, gave instruction to the man, then made way to deck, he had gave quick glance in our quarters and opened lips, but after pause just gave a frown and must have thought better of it.
Williams left standing was not so wise, hearing much stifled moan, sniffles and cry, his curiosity got the better, he took gander why…Ten young ladies in discontent, loud with displeasure at bad weather, questioning tightness of ship, strength of sail, sturdiness of mast, sanity of boarding, why are we hear?…We wailed.
William’s face norm chiseled stone in resting stern…Uplifted with smile wide in girth, face crimson red beneath creased deep ridges of merry and mirth, eyes glint, bottom lip quivering happy to be, feet firmly placed as great oaken root, with upper torso swaying like branches dancing in the wind as the ship swayed side to side and the storm began to make quite the ferocious din
“Alright ladies?” The Boatswain asked, very well knowing the answer. “A bit of a blow on today, eh?”
“A bit of a blow? It be worsen then a morning fart after a night tanked on bottles of oyster stout!…And that is a wind ya canna trust!…We are dying in here…Cant ya see!”
Moaned Fairy, holed up on her bunk feeling most worse for wear, making sick in a bucket for all to see, smell and hear!.
“You’ll get your sea legs soon, well you better hope you do…Maybe a ol’ saying amongst sailors might calm you all…”
“First storm close to home, is a blessing from the Lord, sailors always known.”
“Testing ship, mast and sail, and Captains resolve in not turning tail.”
“Brings good luck far away, in wind and oceans in angry sway.”
”Rounding Cape, we should not trust fate, but rely on God and crew and ship in fine shape.”
“Well the ship sounds like it is breaking apart.” Replied Julia, her crisp voice broken in fear. “Listen to all that creaking and cracking, she will split any minute I tell you!”
“No, no she is fine, just settling into the voyage and finding her shape.”
“Findin’ her fuckin’ shape, if she isn’t shaped like a boat yet we will be right royal fucked.” Cried Fairy quite flabbergasted.
“Don’t fret girl, she is made from good solid English Oak, and is newly built too, I have socks older than her”
“Are we heading for port?” I asked hopefully. “With the other Ships?”
“No girl, no port, The Downs, a roadstead of safe waters laying between the Kent Coast and Goodwin Sands, a mighty sandbank protecting us from the worse, but we must have a mind, the Sands is a fickle friend, moving and shifting with time and tide, offering safe passage to one ship, sinking another. Many a unsuspecting mariner has fallen foul in these waters, and no sailor can forget that great storm of seventeen o three, wrecking forty merchant ships and thirteen men-of-war in a single storm not more than a stone’s throw away.”
“Fuckin’ Jesus, I’m gonna be sick.” Fairy emptied what’s left of her innards.
We sat in silence as Mr Williams departed, with little said but a lot of worried thought after’s. The Boatswain was of little comfort and made still less cheer, if intent were to frighten and scare, one has most assuredly delivered here.
These long hours kept us huddled in misery, sodden and soaken in clothes, cold and wet in skin, miserable and afraid in spirit. Discomfort only forgotten when we had fear too welcome, the hull squeaked and squealed like a drunk violinist, as woods bent and bowed against natures mighty fist of wind and wave.
With weather so adverse, below has taken on vile odors of badness and ill. Passengers and even crew having a poor time of it, only the bravest, or most desperate going above seeking respite and clean air, they did not linger, returning quick sharp drenched. I have feared death will visit, not from drowning but from this wretchedness.
No food has been kept in stomach, innards tossing, turning as violently as ship and sea, our one respite being when the ship’s Surgeon, Mister Bloxholm…After leading the prayers for Sunday service made rounds, checking on the plight of those not well or bright, proscribed a ginger concoction to steady stomach and nerves, with good helpings of opium, ginger and root, it has given us some temporary fortification, let us see what tomorrow may bring and trust God is watching and feeling ever merciful.
Journal of Harriet Wootten. November 28th. 1864.
Monday morning, weather slightly brighter, stomachs calmer and counting our sixth day onboard. Captain Sellars barked orders weigh anchor, time to make way, down the coast we go, but passage was slow as contrary winds still strongly blow.
A outgoing tide our friend, but currents can take us only so far, and soon anchor was lowered again off safe harbour, Ramsgate Roads.
Hunger growled fierce, feed the hole from sickening emptiness it so demand. Those able consumed a simple breakfast of coffee with butter bread, and made those still bedridden limewater and hardtack to settle upset stomachs and dizzy head.
Listless body somewhat revived, exhausted for any pressing chore but fortified just enough to seek respite from the nauseous air lingering below, a short excursion on deck was planned, Elizabeth Wykes and Drusilla most able to go, our fellow companions too out of sorts to move so far except the privy if one could move that fast.
Upon deck the sea still swirled angrily and the wind blew well and true, but it was a bracing tonic from vile smells below, airing body and mind, waking soul.
About us a great many Ships, both fore and aft of position, a hundred or so to see, at mercy of wind and sea and waiting on favorable condition to make voyage anew.
“Grab on to me!” Drusilla took our arms and together fighting the pitching deck made for a sheltered spot to sit.
“Hold my hand, Harriet.” Elizabeth cried as she leant over the gunwale to empty stomach, before I pulled her back down.
“Well this is not what I expected.” I mused. “Bad weather on land is a wet cold bore, but on ship it is a humbling occurrence.”
“Just think, one strong pitch, or foolish slip, and that’s it lost forever overboard.” Drusilla observed.
“Maybe we should return…” I was interrupted by a shout.
“Harriet!…Harriett!” My eldest brother Charles, with two other young men made their way on deck towards us.
“How are yoooo….!” They slipped as one on the wet, slippery deck.
Charles caught hold of a rail and steadied himself, his companion fell at Driscilla’s feet the other landed on me, his hands finding themselves on quite the inappropriate place. He was young and handsome, with dark blue eyes and blond hair, he was most firm to touch and gentle on eye, if I was to so care.
”Come…Let me help you up” I said laughing, our eyes met and held.
“I do beg your pardon…” The young man said. Red in face either from embarrassment or bracing weather.
“Ladies may I present my cabin mates, Mister William Landon.” Said Charles, and turning to Driscilla…“Ah and I see you have met my other companion, Mister Thomas Wills.”
“And what is so amusing?” Asked Charles to Elizabeth who was laughing.
“I believe Harriet and Driscilla have cheek-ache.” Said Elizabeth. “Look Driscilla has even forgotten to let Mister Wills go.”
“It is just sea sickness.” I said giving Elizabeth a good elbow.
“And I was just steading the poor man, before helping him to his feet.” As Driscilla finally let go of Thomas, giving Elizabeth an elbow to her other side too for good measure.
“Mister Landon, where are you from?” I asked.
“Warrington, in Northamptonshire, and from what I understand from conversing with Charles, also heading to Williamson Clearing like your family, we could be neighbours.”
“Indeed, we might, do you travel alone?”
“Yes…Yes I do.” William said, his eyes lingering a little to long, I blushed and quickly changed the subject…”And Mister Wills, where do you home?”
“Exeter, in…” Wills replied.
But our converse was short on time, as a matter of great event took place, a ship, a Dutch ship a merchantman, had slipped her anchor and made fast towards us, much shouting and activity from both ships and with good seamanship and luck only a glancing blow was had before both ships made true. Damage was slight, but a lifeboat was wrecked. The officers and men of the Bombay were quite at odds with the cause of events and let the Dutchman know with much strong banter and the two fingered salute, the Dutch responded with showing of moon, and curses in there own foreign words.
Journal of Harriet Wootten. November 29th 1864.
Three days of storm, gale, sleet, hail, with our ship Bombay still harbouring off Ramsgate Roads, joined in a flotilla of those seeking sanctuary, a watery forest of tall masts swaying in angry winds.
A ship, a small schooner floundered on rocks, broke in two soon after on that very spot. The Ramsgate lifeboat was quick to be sent, and with much prayer deliverance was heaven sent, all but two crew were seen to be rescued, there was much cheering from the watching ships, a miracle more did not meet a terrible end.
My fellow passengers young, brave for adventure, much to prove, danger to face, immortal spirts knowing no end of time, life a fast race…Have learnt a hard lesson these past long days, what the old and wise always teach and say, death stalks near, watching, waiting and has a face.
Will we grow old, love, live, life to share? The youth despair, these past days heavy burdens to bare, the random cut and slice of Grim Reapers sharp scythe a frightful scare.
Land firm, dry we wish and pray, anywhere near, neither heed nor care, for to drown or break against rock a present fear, hands outreached, long looks stare, at scattered cottages so far so near, strong, squat of stone and rock they defiantly sit clifftops aloft.
Unknown abodes with rooms warm, beds soft, hearths burning, baths hot, food aplenty, meaty broth. Shadows pass shuttered windows, barricaded tight, with just a glimmer of light, stopping mid stride, eyes peeping out through gaps and slits looking down on the many ships, the dark forms shake heads and shout scorn who dares brave such a storm?
Too dare think they can master wind and wave, the idiots, the fools, neither wise nor brave, they will soon meet a watery grave.
Remember the great storm of 1703 the shadows cry, a thousand and more sailors came to die, and Goodwin Sands is where they lie, a thousand drowning screams heard in the wailing winds sigh.
The cabin has a most somber feel. The helplessness of our predicament overwhelming even those of the most cherry outlook.
The conversation is sharp and pointed, with mood gloomy and dark as the weather.
Tears have been heavy for fear of this sailing and the past days filled with the wailing of babe for mother, young boys for father, and adults for each other.
Dairy Entry of Harriet Wootten. December 1st. 1864.
We have been off the coast of Ramsgate Roads since the 28th…And yet again, I awoke to the weather neither abating nor lessening.
We longingly look towards land, and the few scattered cottages within view, imagining soft beds and warm hearths, good food and hot baths…Who might abode there? What must they think looking down upon these many ships, harboring from storm and surge? Too dare think they can master wind and wave, the fools, they must think from there safe perch.
The excitement of adventure and daring- do, is now just a scare. I just want to be on dry land, anywhere will do, I do not care. To drown or be broken against rock, is my fear. I want to grow old, and have a life to share…Maybe with a certain William Landon?
The cabin has a most somber feel, a large coffin within our fate is sealed. The drudgery of our predicament overwhelming even my cherry outlook.
The conversation has turned most sharp and pointed, with the mood as gloomy and dark as the weather.
I am not ashamed to say that I have been in tears for fear of this sailing and missing Wiltshire. I am not the only one to feel this, life below deck has been filled with the wailing of babe for mother, young boys for father, and adults for home.
This morn, after breakfast of simple fare. Hard biscuits, marmalade and a good helping of black tea, I left the cabin for a gander.
Boredom, idleness and needing relief from the dire conversation and mood itching my urge. I explored the spaces girls are allowed to go unescorted, which was little, and confined to the aft. Being quarters of the other girls cabins, officers’ quarters and the first class cuddy’s.
“What are you doing?”
A young man, well dressed and appointed, anointed and fragrant, definitely not steerage, approached me as I sat on the ladder leading to above deck.
“I be sitting, Sir, there being naught else to do, being stormy weather above, and stormy mood below.” I responded.
He looked me up and down, no doubt appraising my somewhat, rickety rackety cloths and general disheveled appearance. He most assuredly appeared to be a man of substance and means. But his tone was soft, and his eyes held no judge, we made converse and he kindly sought to lighten my care…
“Do you know where the expression…To eat my hat came from?”
“No…?” I replied.
“Well then, let me spin you a yarn, and a true one, if truth be told. Sailors were given a quota of tobacco, issued once a week only…Sundays right after pray…And by God a truer blessing could not be had, save for our daily tot.
“What’s a tot?’ I asked.
“Rum, Girl….Rum, now may I continue?…Being of praised possession and a small comfort at sea, we would keep the tobacco in the lining of our hats, too keep safe from hand and sight of any thieving scoundrels aboard.” He leant into me and whispered. “And there is always wandering fingers and watching eyes aboard a ship so take heed little girl, take good heed indeed.”
He continued…
“However, the moist dark tobacco would leech and stain our brim, as week end came, and we smoked our last flake, and chewed our last plug, we would be up the mast besides ourselves with want and need for tobacco, none to be had…We would have no resort but to chew our hat, savoring the tobacco infused cloth…Hence, eating ones hat.” He said with great gusto and joy, clearly pleased with the yarn.
“Oh!…”Was all I managed.
“Sucking as a babe to mothers breast to get the taste of tobacco…You understand?”
“Oh… Yes Sir!” I said, most unimpressed with his story, true or no.
“John Jessup! Stop boring the poor girl with your dribble drabble.” Said a young well presented women opening her cabin door.”
Looking at me she smiled and said. “Sorry dear, he needs a ball and chain that one, and who might you be?”
“Harriet Wootten…Madam.”
“Hush girl, I am too young and common for that, I am a Hackney girl…Call me Sarah, Sarah Jessup and this is my husband John.”
“But you are in first class?” I said.
“A stroke of providence and goodwill by a generous benefactor.” Said John. “We are imposters, neither Lord nor Lady, nor rich nor fair.”
He gave out a mighty roar of laughter, and walked into his cuddy.
“Good day Sir” I said.
“My husband served as aide-de-camp to Admiral Edmondson on the HMS Aragon, he is the one that has been so kind as to pay our way, now don’t you worry about the weather, the thing about bad weather is that it is always followed by good…And if you need to know anything just knock on our door, ships take a little getting used too, and my husband can give you the what’s what.” Sarah said kindly before bidding me farewell.
In the afternoon, a boat braved the choppy waters and came along the Bombay selling fresh produce. Pa brought a few apples, at a half penny each, they were crisp and sweet, and several loaves of Kentish bread called Huffkins at 4 pounds for 1 shilling, the loaves are soft and flat, with a hole from the bakers thumb which we filled with jam, most perfect for tea.
Journal of Harriet Wootten. December 2nd. 1864.
At seven in the morn, we awoke to noise of the ship, and sailors loud to spoke, hoist the anchors and set sail, at last wallowing broke, and on the move in the tail of this slow moving gale.
Not one of us were brave enough to leave tightly tucked blankets and berth, the cold air and floor not given to mirth, however…
“Who the fuck let rip? Ya dirty sods.” Shouted Fairy Matson.
I hid nose and face under blankets as the foulness from the depths of ones smell wafted through the cabin.
Not I!” I said from underneath.
“Nor me!” Said Sarah.
“This is a most depressing predicament, less than 100 miles as the crow flies from the docks of London, and I have spent ten days in a room of vile and stinking flatulence.” Bemoaned Julia Lock. “To think I once had home and wealth.”
“We could be rambling frickin’ faster.” Fairy agreed. “And you might of spread those legs for gold and honey, but you are with us now, ten to a room, and it isn’t sunny.”
At last we were underway, but slow progress made, the ship using outgoing currents to drift down the channel.
The tide took us as far as Dover, where once again anchor was cast, passage stayed, small distance made again this day.
With the wind still at strength, blowing West South West directly up channel, any thought of unfurling canvas and setting sail was cast aside. A more favorable wind being required.
It was ten minute`s past eleven, and thoughts turned to preparing dinner.
I was volunteered, again, being of little culinary skill, I was at least able to boil and brew without murdering flavour or killing stew.
With chores done and time idle, I sat upon deck and watched the coast until late afternoon.
The town and port of Dover, crowded with many a ship seeking harbour and under the shadow of the white cliffs and mighty Castle made a welcome sight.
Land and town so close gave at least some semblance of protection. The fortress stood strong and proud, walls and keep stood proudly sturdy and high on its mount…The key to England, the symbol of strength and defiance to all those that dared to invade, watching over but offering no protection to its nautical subjects, I’m afraid.
The wind spent of anger abated, its spent force by evening turning to a light breeze, and with a change of direction we ere once again got underway.
Tacking hard out to sea heading southward, we were joined by a great many ships, eager to make headway and distance on their own journeys.
We had simple fare of preserved meats and rice for supper, which I was most glad to keep within, the motion of ship and ocean abating and no longer churning our stomachs.
It has been told that being near the aft of the ship is more stable than bow. For that I am most grateful, but I worried for my brother Charles being housed so much forward, his stomach must be as twisted and turned as a Flemish knot, my thoughts also wandered towards his companion that I had met, the handsome William, and his good keeping.
I retired early tonight full in stomach and much in hope for calmer days, most tired from those rough seas.
THE SHIP BOMBAY! 