*Women Aboard*
Matthews was ill-at-ease. This was not something that Captain Hornblower was used to seeing. Matthews was invariably competent. He might sometimes appear sombre or concerned, but to be ill-at-ease was not like him at all. Hornblower had assumed that Matthews had asked to see him about some matter of ship’s business, but worry sharpened in him, for only a very considerable problem would have his reliable boatswain as ill-at-ease as this.
“What is it, Matthews?” He managed with an effort to keep his voice from becoming too sharp.
“It’s my wife, sir.”
“Your wife?” Hornblower was vaguely aware that Matthews was married, but that was all he did know. Was Mrs Matthews ill?
“Yes sir. Our ‘Liza was married a few months back, sir, and with Tom ‘prenticed to his uncle that’s all the children flown, sir.”
“Yes, Matthews.” What the children had to do with this he could not imagine.
“Well, you see, the way of it is – she wants to sail with me, sir,”
“Sail with you?” He knew the echo sounded stupid.
“Yessir. She says it’s lonesome ashore now the chil’un are gone, an’ seein’ as how I’m bosun now she reckoned as ‘ow she could come aboard, sir.”
Hornblower frowned. He was, of course, aware that warrant officers, and sometimes petty officers, were frequently allowed the privilege of having their wives aboard, whatever naval regulations said. Indeed he still had fond memories of the motherly gunner’s wife who had been so kind when he was a desperately sea-sick young midshipman aboard the Indefatigable. But he nonetheless believed that to invite women aboard was a source of trouble.
“There have never been women on the Hotspur, Matthews.”
“Nosir. But my Betty’s a good woman, sir, she wouldn’t cause no trouble.”
“But she would be the only woman aboard, Matthews,” Hornblower pointed out. “That would be a difficult position.”
“Gunner’s not married, sir,” Matthews told him, “But I know as how Chips and the armourer would like to bring their wives aboard. They didn’t like to ask afore, sir, when they came aboard they needed the work bad with so many ships laid up.”
Hornblower hoped his indecision did not show. He wanted to say no, but was not sure he could find reasonable grounds, and to refuse on unreasonable grounds would lead to bad feeling. He was troubled by a nagging sense that he had not made a good start in handling the crew of his first command. He did not want to seem a weak captain, currying favour with the crew, but nor did he want to appear an arbitrary tyrant. It was very difficult.
“It is tradition, sir,” Matthews muttered. Hornblower felt himself beaten. The tradition of the service was a powerful force, and the men greatly resented any interference with it.
“Very well, Matthews,” he said. “But there must be no trouble, you understand? No trouble at all.”
~~#~~
Mrs Matthews was a dumpy, grey-haired woman with a cheerful face, and just looking at her Hornblower felt many of his misgivings fade. Of the other two women whom he had felt obliged to allow on board also the armourer’s wife was a colourless wisp, but the carpenter’s gave more cause for concern, although not in first youth she was not old either, a buxom woman with what Hornblower considered to be a bold look about her.
He had to admit, though, that the women settled into shipboard life well. Bush reported that the two young midshipman he had recently felt obliged to take aboard were already showing the benefits of being looked after by Mrs Matthews and on visiting the surgery Hornblower noticed an indefinable but unmistakable air of improvement.
“It’s the women,” the surgeon, who held the undistinguished name of Smith, informed him. “Much better to have some of them along than to rely a couple of lame-witted seamen who are sent to the surgery because they are thought no good for anything else.”
Hornblower came to the conclusion that he seemed to be brushing through the introduction of women to his ship fairly easily, and indeed had come close to forgetting their presence when Carpenter Mc Phie unexpectedly recalled it by dying of dysentery from a barrel of bad beef.
Not that Hornblower expended too much thought on the carpenter’s widow to begin with. He felt sorry for her, but vaguely assumed that next time the ship made harbour she would go back to wherever she had been living before being invited aboard. It was a visit from Styles which overturned those easy assumptions.
“Are you serious about this, Styles?” he asked blankly.
“Oh yes, sir. Me an’ Mary ‘ud suit fine, sir. An’ she wants to stay with the ship, sir.”
“But Styles, only warrant officers are allowed wives aboard the Hotspur.” Styles was presently rated gunner’s mate which made him a petty officer. Unless he could learn to read and write at this late stage there was no possibility of further promotion. “Besides,” Hornblower added with faint distaste, “is this decent? Her husband’s barely cold.”
“It may not be the way of things where you come from, sir,” Styles retorted, “but where I grew up a woman who lost her husband ‘ud need to find a new one fast if she didn’t want to find ‘erself and ‘er young ones inside of the poor ‘ouse. Men too, more often’n not. Mary and McPhie ‘ad three living with ‘er sister, and McPhie used to send part of ‘is pay but now that’s gone she says the sister an’ sister’s ‘usband can’t keep ‘em as charity.”
“Styles if you really wish to marry this w– Mrs McPhie, then that is entirely your affair. If the two of you agree, that is.”
“There wasn’t anything wrong when McPhie was living, if that’s what you mean, sir,” Styles said indignantly. “I like Mary fine and McPhie were a good man an’ I don’t see as ‘ow his youngsters should end up in the poor ‘ouse.”
“Yes, yes, a most creditable sentiment,” Hornblower said quickly. “I was not meaning to imply anything amiss, I assure you. I merely wished to be sure– But if you wish to marry Mrs McPhie then it is not my affair at all. But keeping her aboard is another matter entirely. If I give permission to one petty officer to have his wife aboard I cannot reasonably refuse it to others. I am not running a boarding house.”
“There ain’t that so many petty officers aboard,” Styles argued. “Master’s mates wouldn’t ask, they know it’s not the way for them.”
“Styles, the matter is closed.” He made his voice sharp, denying further argument.
~~#~~
The return voyage saw a sharp exchange of fire with a French corvette. The engagement came to nothing, but there were several splinter wounds to be patched up, and Hornblower thought it as well to check their progress with the surgeon.
“I am glad they are all healing satisfactorily, doctor.”
“A good deal of it is thanks to Mrs McPhie,” the surgeon told him bluntly. “One of the best assistants I’ve had. I shall be sorry to lose her.””
“I am sure you will manage, doctor.” Hornblower said coldly.
“I daresay. It always seems to be a question of managing.” He pushed the matter no further but left Hornblower with the unspoken reproof. Later that day, receiving a report from Matthews, he noticed that his boatswain avoided his eyes, speaking in a wooden manner that it was impossible to challenge but which Hornblower well knew meant dissatisfaction.
His first reaction was anger at their evident disapproval of his decision, but in the privacy of his quarters he forced himself to think about it calmly. His authority had not been openly challenged, after all. Pellew had told him once that a wise captain should always pay attention to the moods of his crew. And on another occasion that only a foolish commander would refuse to ever go back on a decision.
He stepped outside his quarters. “Mr Bush, send Styles to me.”
~~#~~
Hornblower’s second concession to women on board seemed initially to have passed off as painlessly as the first. And when, some months later, both Matthews and Styles followed him from Hotspur to Atropos he could hardly refuse to let their wives come also.
It was some months afterwards that, paying one of his occasional visits to the sick berth, he found Mrs Styles, as she now was, abed. Feeling too awkward to address the woman directly he turned to the doctor to express his hope that it was nothing serious.
“No, no, it’s simply the first stages of labour. For so healthy a woman I foresee no trouble.”
“Labour?” Hornblower repeated incredulously. “You mean she’s having a child? At sea?” On his ship?
“Nothing to be concerned about,” the doctor assured him. “Why, I remember one woman gave birth during the Battle of the Nile, and both mother and infant thrived.”
“Well, I’m sure I hope the same will be the case here,” Hornblower said testily. “But I cannot keep an infant aboard.”
“The child can hardly be separated from his mother before it is weaned,” the surgeon told him.
Making a noise very much like a growl Hornblower retreated to his own quarters, where he had to suppress the urge to bang his head on the ship’s side. What on earth had he done to deserve this?