Zealand

9. Toward Home

Offloading was slow from all four barges, with too many people crowding both up and down the narrow stone stairs. And each carry was farther as the tide continued to fall. While the last of the goods were being taken ashore from Bessy, Captain explained that the ebb flows faster than the flood, the natural river current adding to the falling tide. He said its speed was still sufficient to carry us more than three miles downstream in an hour.

I worried as I watched the water moving steadily past. Then worried more when I again looked across the river at London afire. So close to his house and all the comforts in it. My home for less than a day. Not yet a full night in my feather bed.

What if the wind turns afore the tide does? Then what? How long for the fire to burn its way from Botolph Wharf? A hundred and twenty feet, he had said, twice the length of Bessy. The wind carries the sparks that far and more – firedrops some had called them...

My pother was interrupted by his voice, "Lower the port leeboard, lad."

"Aye, sir. Port leeboard down."

While I did this, Captain hoisted the jib and sheeted it. Then when I finished the lowering, he ordered, "Unbrail the main, lad."

"Aye, sir, release the main."

By the time I had regained the deck, Captain had the main sheeted, causing Bessy to move forward against the current and pull at her mooring lines. Then upon his signal, two men ashore at the bitts unturned our mooring lines and flung them aboard.

While I coiled the lines, the sails pulled Bessy away from the embankment and slowly upriver against the ebb. Then aft again to sit with Captain, he explained as he adjusted the tiller, "This is called stemming, lad. We balance the force of the wind with that of the current by steering a course more upriver than across it." He nodded forward. "We point toward the bridge, but our motion is sideways toward Billingsgate."

It took me but a moment to understand, then I said, "But with this current, it's possible only because of the strong wind."

"Aye, lad. Most days, we would need to tarry at the stairs until the tide eased, and with an ebb such as it is now, afore the current became fit to cross, Bessy's crib would be high and dry."

"Her crib, sir?"

"The grid of timbers onto which she settles at low tide."

"Oh! Why haven't I seen it?"

"It shows only when the tide falls by about three-fourths."

I nodded. "Three-fourths is seventeen or eighteen feet below the normal high, isn't it?"

"Indeed, and if we continue across at this rate, you will see the crib down through the water as we moor above it. With Bessy unladen, there should be a foot or so beneath her keel when we arrive."

I pondered this as I examined Billingsgate, seeing it filled with boats – small wherries, large sailing barges and everything between. And with the tide now well more than halfway down, they were far below the dockside and the press of people there. Those not near the stairs nor the cranes, lowered their goods by ropes – the hard goods such as chairs, tables and boxes. Softer bales and bundles were tossed or dropped to the boats. After I had watched a while, I pointed to them and said, "They must rush their lading, else they'll need await the flooding tide afore they can leave."

"Nay, lad. Nay, the dock is dug deeper than the lowest tide, making it possible to arrive and depart regardless of the water level."

"Oh! Why isn't yours like that?"

"The embankment would collapse, taking my wharf and house with it – most along the river are like mine, drying well before low tide."

"Why doesn't Billingsgate collapse?"

"It was dug well over a thousand years ago, by the Romans, scholars tell us, and they bolstered the embankments all round with massive stone walls."

I examined them, nodding in understanding. Then as we neared, the fire's roar and crackle grew louder, and I was pleased the wind kept both the flames and the smoke away from us. But for how long? Of habit, it blows from the west. When will it turn?

"Standby the breast line, lad."

I rose and hastened forward, calling over my shoulder, "Aye, sir. The middle one."

As I found the end of the coiled mooring line, I wondered about the sails. Shouldn't I drop the jib? Then looking up, I saw it filled and pulling. And also the main. We still need them to stem the current.

As Bessy moved slowly sideways toward the pilings of the wharf, I lost sight of the fire, so I turned my attention to the water, looking for the crib. Finally, not half a boat-length away, huge beams appeared through the ripples of the water. They seemed so close to the surface, I worried that we would strike them.

Relief came a short while later as we passed sideways above them. Then Bessy creaked and shuddered as she pressed onto the pilings, and Captain called, "Reeve the line through that ring, lad, then back aboard to the cleat."

"Aye, sir. Through the ring and back to the cleat."

As I turned the line in a crists-crosse, I heard above me the snapping of sails let fly. Then Captain called, "Well done, lad. Now, let fall the jib."

"Aye, sir. Drop the jib."

With the force of the wind on it, I had to pull the sail down the last half, and as I did this, Captain brailed the main. Then while he showed me how to lash the jib to the deck to keep the wind from catching it, he said, "It pleases me you chose this for your bed, lad. In these conditions, the crossing would have been impossible without you."

I trembled to hear this, making my voice quake, "Pleases me too, sir."

He began raising the leeboard, saying as he turned the crank, "These must be up as we settle onto the crib; otherwise, they could be damaged."

We had used only the one, but I checked the other to see it all the way up, then I asked, "What might I do?"

"Nothing but to watch as I show you how we finish mooring Bessy."

When he had cranked the leeboard all the way up and inserted the locking pin, he led me to the starboard side as he explained, "These three thick ropes – hawsers, properly – are drawn and kept taut by cranks atop the wharf. These thick brass rings move freely up and down them, and through them, we lock our mooring chains to allow Bessy to rise and fall with the tides."

I nodded at the cleverness, then I paused to wonder, and finally, to question, "If we arrive at a higher tide, the rings'll be below the water. What then?"

"With these, lad." He grasped a thin line tied to the ring. "After we have looped the hawsers and settled alongside, we haul the mooring rings up with these."

While he arranged the mooring chain at the bow, a voice called down from above. "What fee to carry away my chattel and family?"

"Five pounds, sir. But you must wait for –"

"Ten pounds to take us before the others."

Then another voice. "Twenty pounds."

And another, "Thirty gold guineas."

"Forty," Called another as I looked up to the top of the wharf.

Then Captain said, "There are no others afore you except the tide, and that cannot be bought. We will refloat in three or four hours."

"Christ's nails, you oafish man. Whyever did you moor there?"

"Because I own it, and we have been carrying people away without pause for well-nigh ten hours."

Captain finished the mooring, then he pointed to the ladder, "Up ye go, lad. It is now well past noon, and we have yet to breakfast."