Free Not the Same Sky by Evelyn Conlon Page B

the worst and it will get better soon.’
    This was the part of the sea that Charles had forgotten.
    The awfulness was apparent in their faces, and yet Honora felt this dreadful day did at least break up the hours. It gave her something immediate to deal with and took her mind off the savagery of what had happened to her and the rest of girls around her. She did not say this.
    A slight abatement came and grew in the water. Charles made a consoling announcement about the now foreseeable end.
    Honora went up on deck. She had to use all her strength to open the door, which was being buffeted by a ferocious wind. As she struggled up the stairs, distastefully putting her feet down as best she could, a magnet appeared to pull her stomach up to her throat. But once on deck, watching the horizon, there was a reasonableness about the storm. One minute she saw only sea, and a few moments later only sky. But it was better to watch. Up here she could count the number of crashing waves and corrugated bounces that it took to achieve the change in view. Up here, the noises of the sick had space to waft out and away. And up here she could see the gradual levelling of the bumps.
    The birds were still swooping, but occasional dips looked like a cavort, as if they knew the end was in sight and that no great harm had been done. As she made her way back down the stairs she peeped into the room that was their eating quarter, and saw that the crew, who had no doubt been lying down themselves, were beginning to ready the tables. Still holding firm against the gravity in the middle of the floor, they prepared as best they could. Some of the girls could now swear by the best spots to stand during a storm, having watched this trick. They were wetting cloths to put on the table to stop the plates, mugs and cutlery from sliding—whoever turned up to eat must be made comfortable.
    ‘That will be the last one before the Cape,’ a sailor said in sympathy as she passed, moved perhaps by the look of her and the knowledge that his daughter was safe in bed on a floor that did not move. Honora believed him about the last storm, it seemed the hopeful thing to do.
    And then the sea calmed. After checking the condition of his charges, Charles surveyed the damage. Almost half of the lanterns were broken and gloom threatened. What if the girls could not see at night? How much more difficult would that make the remainder of their journey? They were not even close to halfway yet.
    ‘What will we do for light?’
    There was always a voice to say aloud one’s worst fears. He would have to come up with some way to fix the lanterns. So he got bottles and tied a string tight where he wanted the neck and bottom cut—it was worth a try. Girls watched him silently.
    ‘I know what you’re going to do next,’ Julia Cuffe said.
    The sound of her voice saying a normal thing encouraged him greatly. He wondered if he should ask her what she thought he might do, because in fact he wasn’t sure. But he stopped himself, because a reply might push her back against her own wall. Charles twisted the string and rubbed it patiently around the desired place of friction until the line got hot. Yes, this was how to do it. Patience. He must not rush. He concentrated on not breaking the glass before it was ready. Some girls smiled as they saw the progress. They all stayed quiet. Then he doused it in cold water, achieving, in most circumstances, an almost clean break. He then fitted this regular globe into the lanterns. All was light again. The girls still watched, then clapped, as each lantern got its new cover. The joy destroyed the memory of the storm. Bridget Joyce whispered that he had made light. It pulled him up straight, because in truth, he hadn’t been feeling too good that day.
    Charles went downstairs and wrote some letters, which he would give to the next ship they met wending its return journey to England. As he wrote, he thought himself lucky that he had people to whom he