Chapter 9
Darcy stood at the stern of the ship facing east, watching as the great ball of fire that was the sun rose with stately grace above the endless waves.
He had been aboard the Riley for a full thirty days now, and while impatient to finish his journey, also felt a strange sense of peace.
Shipboard life was so simple in its own way; not easy certainly, but simple.
One focused on survival aboard ship, and the attention to wind and sun and weather reminded Darcy of his tenant farmers, who depended on the rains and sunshine to bring forth the fruit of the earth every summer.
He heard the soft tread of boots behind him and turned to see Captain Drayson approaching with a pipe in his mouth.
“You are up early, Mr. Darcy,” the man commented, leaning against the railing and puffing on his pipe. The smoke curled up and away behind the ship, which continued to forge her way bravely west.
“I have always been an early riser, but on board the Riley I wake earlier. I know not why,” Darcy replied.
“Well, I have some good news for you, Mr. Darcy. We were able to take a lunar last night and have determined our longitude. If the winds hold fair, we will make St. Croix in three days.”
Darcy turned to face the man, his eyebrows lifted curiously, “A lunar, sir?”
“Yes,” the man replied with satisfaction. “For many years, we were only able to obtain our latitude by sighting the sun at its zenith, but some ten years ago a book was written by an American detailing a method for us to determine our longitude as well.”
“An American!” Darcy inquired with a comical quirk of an eyebrow. “Are we so short of navigators in Britain that we must depend on an American to make our way safely to St. Croix?”
“Indeed, yes,” the captain chuckled. “They have their share of brilliant men in the former colonies, and Nathaniel Bowditch is a prime example. He is an absolute genius of a mathematician and wrote a book entitled the New American Practical Navigator. With its tables and figures, we are able to use the moon and stars to determine our longitude. We are getting very close, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy turned with his back to the railing, his eyes fixed on the western horizon, suddenly filled with longing.
He desperately needed to see Elizabeth, to know that she was well fed and clad, that she was being treated properly.
He knew that Mr. Gardiner respected the clergyman and his wife who had escorted Elizabeth to the island, but nonetheless the next three days would be excruciating.
A soft chuckle interrupted his thoughts and he glanced at the captain, who was gazing at him with amusement, “Your lady must be most exceptional.”
“She is, Captain. She is indeed.”
As the two finished talking, the men of the ship began singing a tune which Darcy had heard twice before, a ballad which proved a welcome distraction for the next few minutes.
The verses described a sailor who promised his new love to stay ashore for her.
When he reneged on his promise and left her for the call of the ocean, she broke her promise to him as well.
Maid of Amsterdam
In Amsterdam there lived a maid
Mark well what I do say
In Amsterdam there lived a maid
And she was mistress of her trade
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
One night I crept from my abode
Mark well what I do say
One night I crept from my abode
To meet this fair maid down the road
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
I took her to her favorite park
Mark well what I do say
I took her to her favorite park
And we sat down where it was dark
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
I put my hand upon her knee
Mark well what I do say
I put my hand upon her knee
She said, “young man you’re rather free”
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
She swore that she’d be true to me
Mark well what I do say
She swore that she’d be true to me
But she spent me money fast and free
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
And when I got back home from sea
Mark well what I do say
And when I got back home from sea
A soldier had her on his knee
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
A roaming, a roaming, since roaming’s been my ruin
I’ll go no more a roaming with you fair maid
/
Elizabeth Bennet glanced outside at the rising sun and sighed. She had risen early as usual but it seemed that when in the throes of kitchen tasks, time flew.
“Show me?” Elizabeth requested of Sarah, who was standing next to her.
Sarah smiled and lifted the lump of dough, split it in half, and handed one ball to Elizabeth.
“Watch me,” the girl said in her heavily accented English. Elizabeth obediently observed as the girl kneaded the dough on the table with her strong hands, turning the lump over and over, pressing it down with her palms.
“Now you, Miss,” Sarah continued, gesturing at Elizabeth’s hunk of dough. Elizabeth obediently began kneading it and felt a strange sense of satisfaction when Sarah nodded in approval.
Elizabeth had grown up as a gentleman’s daughter.
Her mother, Mrs. Bennet, had been determined that none of her daughters would work in the kitchen, learn to do laundry or dust the mantelpieces.
Elizabeth remembered, with wry sorrow, that her mother had crowed over the reality that Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s closest friend, spent time cooking and doing housework, whereas the Miss Bennets’ left all such work to the servants.
Now Mr. Bennet was dead, Mr. Collins was installed at Longbourn with Charlotte as his wife, and the Bennet women were scattered.
Jane was toiling away as companion to her heiress, and Elizabeth found herself, with a mixture of amusement and distress, performing basic tasks around the parsonage in addition to running the household.
For this, Mrs. Helena Kendall was to blame, though Elizabeth did not fault her in the least. All had hoped that Helena would feel much better when she was back on solid earth; indeed, she had improved a little, but not to the point that she could oversee the house and its inhabitants.
The poor woman usually had one or two good hours in the morning but if she tried to work too hard or even stand too long, she would begin vomiting copiously.
Mr. Kendall, worried about his wife and unborn child, had asked Elizabeth to take charge of the parsonage until Helena felt substantially better.
It was fortunate that Sarah and her husband Jacob were such kind people.
Sarah was patient with Elizabeth’s fumbling attempts to help in the kitchen and with the washing, and had a wealth of knowledge about where to buy food and how to prepare the odd ingredients available in Christiansted.
All of this, of course, was managed through a major language barrier.
Sarah and Jacob’s native language was musical and lovely, but Elizabeth did not know a single word of it.
Both Sarah and Jacob spoke some English, but it was a Creole version.
Elizabeth often could not understand them through their accents, and they in turn could not understand her.
It was frustrating for all, but the couple continued to be generous and forbearing with her.
At least the food was far better than Elizabeth had eaten on board the Amelia Rose.
In addition to pineapple, which she quite thought the best tasting food on Earth, there was a variety of other produce including mangoes – a close second to the pineapple in excellence – and a large soft fruit with white flesh and large black seeds, for which she did not know the name.
She found herself waking early and going to bed late as she rushed about -- rather incompetently, she feared -- ensuring that Mr. and Mrs. Kendall were well-fed and had clean clothing.
Sarah was a great help, as were the two women who came in a few hours a day to do the rougher cleaning, but the Kendalls needed more servants.
That was easier said than done; purchasing a slave was, of course, morally not an option, and in the three weeks since they had landed on St. Croix, Mr. Kendall had failed in his attempts to hire other servants.
Elizabeth sighed and smiled at Sarah, who was gazing at her with concern.
“All right, Miss?” she inquired.
“Of course, Sarah,” Elizabeth assured her. “Now what?”
“Now, the bread ...”
The girl lifted her hands and Elizabeth nodded. It had to rise.
“I go get water now,” Sarah said, opening a lower cabinet and removing two buckets.
“Oh no, Sarah!” Elizabeth cried impulsively.
The water buckets, she had learned, were very heavy indeed.
Sarah was thin and with child; she should not be carrying the water back from the well, which was some distance from the parsonage.
Elizabeth glanced around despairingly, but it was true that they had only enough water for morning tea, and the daily servants would not be here for another two hours.
The washing water needed to be heated up as soon as possible, so they needed fresh water.