01 The Building of Jalna (7 page)

She did so. However days passed before the boys were able to persuade Mary to leave her mother’s side. Mrs. Cameron indeed
was unwilling to let her child out of her sight. She looked worried rather than pleased when finally Mary went for a promenade along the sloping deck, supported on either side by Conway and Sholto. They made an extraordinary trio, the boys in their elegant new clothes, the girl travel-stained; the boys bright-eyed, alert to everything that passed about them, the girl seeming in a kind of dream; the boys continually chaffing each other, she looked from one face to the other, scarcely seeming to take in what they said.

The remaining passenger with whom the Whiteoaks became friendly was an Englishman, a Mr. Wilmott who, like themselves, was going out to settle in Canada. He was a tall thin man with sharp but well-cut features and short brown whiskers. He was reserved concerning himself but a fluent talker when politics were under discussion. He and the two Irishmen soon provided entertainment for the rest, for they argued without open rancor. Mr. Wilmott was ironic, with flashes of wit, the Irishmen humourous and ever ready with the most violent exaggerations. Philip had been so long out of England that he felt unequal to political discussion. Also, in any such argument concerning their two countries, he would have had Adeline as his opponent, and the thought of this was distasteful to him.

Adeline’s mind was occupied by her desire to bring Mr. Wilmott and Mrs. Cameron together. Here they were, two lonely people (Mr. Wilmott certainly wore a sombre look at times) who would do well to link their lives together. And what a protector, what a father he would make for little Mary! She felt that Mrs. Cameron was melancholy, rather than heartbroken, over the loss of her husband. She was wrapped up in her child. How could a woman be mother before mate, Adeline wondered, as her eyes drank in Philip’s strength and beauty. Not she — not she! Her man would always come first. She despised the too maternal woman.

So a new world was created on board the
Alanna
, very different from the world on board the ship that had brought them from India. This was a much smaller, closer world, more cut off from the old life. The last voyage had been a voyage homeward. This
was one into what was new and unknown. The last had been a linking up; this was a cutting off. Adeline was conscious of an odd detachment, an exhilaration, as though she were adventuring into a spiritual as well as a material distance.

For a week they pressed forward in fair weather. Then the head wind increased in strength and the ship struggled on against it and against the rising green waves that crashed on her bow, enveloping her in spray. It was no longer possible to stay on deck. They must spend the long hours below where there was not only the close air but the smells and noises from the steerage to be endured. The ayah became seasick and Adeline had the care of the baby on her hands. Mrs. Cameron and Mary adored little Augusta and took a large share of her care. But at night she was restless and Adeline and Philip did not get their proper sleep.

They were going to their berths early one stormy night when there was at thumping on the door and Conway’s voice called out: —

“Philip! There’s a leak sprung!”

“What?” shouted Philip, staying the unbuttoning of his waistcoat.

“She has sprung a plank! She’s leaking!”

Then there came the heavy tramping of feet overhead and the shouts of officers.

Adeline turned pale. She had the quietly whimpering baby in her arms.

“Will the ship sink?” she asked.

“Certainly not. Don’t be alarmed,” said Philip. He threw open the door.

Conway stood there supporting himself by the brass railing which ran along the passage. He wore a bright-coloured dressing gown and, even in the excitement of the moment, Philip noticed how it heightened his resemblance to the Knave of Diamonds. With the door open, the noise of tramping feet and vehement shoutings, the roar of the steadily rising squall, the thunder and rattle of canvas and tackle, were increased. The sails were being lowered.

“They’re lowering the sails!” shouted Conway, but his voice came as no more than a whisper. “It’s blowing a terrible gale.”

His brother stood close behind him, clinging to the railing. He looked green with seasickness. Adeline said to him: —

“Come in and lie down in my berth, Sholto. You must keep the baby while we go to see the Captain.”

The boy obediently stumbled into the cabin and threw himself on to the berth.

“Oh, I’m so ill!” he moaned.

Adeline placed the baby beside him.

“You are not to come, Adeline,” Philip shouted.

Her eyes flashed rebellion. She gripped his arm in her hands. “I will come!” she shouted back.

The vessel gave a heave that sent them all staggering into one corner of the cabin. Mrs. Cameron now appeared in the doorway. She had a shawl wrapped about her head and she was holding Mary closely to her, as though determined not to be parted from her at the moment of sinking. But she spoke calmly.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing but a leak, ma’am. We are going to see the Captain.” Philip’s tone, his very presence, were reassuring.

“We will go too.” They saw the words on her lips though they could not hear them.

Clinging to the rail and to each other Philip and Adeline gained the companionway. They found the Captain and the first officer supervising the lowering of the sails. The great canvas thundered deckward as in terrifying capitulation. The stark masts looked suddenly fragile and the ship vulnerable. The wind blew with terrific force and green walls of water reared themselves, then came crashing against the side of the rolling ship. The heaving wash of the waters was palely illuminated by a cloud-bound moon, that only now and again really showed herself. Adeline had seen storms at sea before this and they were tropic storms, but the ship had been larger, the company more numerous. There was a loneliness about this storm. The little
group of people seemed helpless, the wind was piercingly cold. However, the Captain spoke with equanimity.

“It’s nothing but a squall,” he said in his hearty, Yorkshire accent. “I’ve been round the Cape many times myself and this is naught but a puff of wind. So you’d best go back to your berths, ladies, and not worry.”

Above the noise of the storm came confused shoutings and tramping from the companionway. The steerage passengers were pouring up from below. They looked wild-eyed, rough and terrified.

Captain Bradley strode over to them.

“What does this mean?” he demanded.

The second mate shouted back — “I couldn’t keep them down there, sir! The water’s pouring in below.”

The Captain looked grim. He pressed his way through the crowd, ordering them to descend with him, which they did in great confusion.

Adeline heard him shout — “All hands to the pumps!”

Philip was patting her on the back. He was smiling at her. She smiled bravely back. He raised his voice and said — “The squall is passing. Everything will be all right.”

“Take Mrs. Cameron’s arm,” she said. “She looks ready to drop.”

Mary Cameron had left her mother’s side. Conway Court had his arm about her. Neither of them looked frightened but they both wore expressions of pale hilarity. Philip helped Mrs. Cameron back to her cabin. The wind was falling. Yet the sea was still heavy with great thundering waves and the wind still fierce enough to fill the storm sails, to which the ship had been stripped, to bursting point. In the welter of the waves the
Alanna
lay almost on her beam ends. Now a rainstorm advanced like a wall, seeming to join with the waves in the effort to drown those aboard.

But Captain Bradley was not downcast. He went about, ruddy-faced and cheerfully shouting his orders. The swinging lanterns illumined but little the wild scene. Sailors were thrumming sails together and drawing them under the ship’s bow in what seemed a hopeless effort to stop the leak. Adeline felt that, if she went
below, she would be desperate with fear. Here in the midst of the activity she felt herself equal to Philip in courage. She drew Mary Cameron and Conway to her side and the three of them linked themselves, waiting Philip’s return.

“I gave her some brandy,” he said as he came up. “She needed it, poor lady, for she is half-dead with cold.” He turned to the girl. “Shall I take you down to your mother, Mary?”

“Did she ask for me?” Mary’s voice was slightly sulky.

“No. I think she’ll sleep. Perhaps you are better with us.”

Conway Court gave a shout of laughter. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary — ” he sang. “Sailed away to the Port of Canary.”

Philip frowned at him but Adeline laughed too and Mary gave him an adoring look. He was a wild figure in his bright-hued dressing gown with his tawny hair blowing in the wind.

Mr. Wilmott came up to them.

“The officers are not alarmed,” he said, “but the leak appears to be a bad one. The four pumps are working like the devil. Mr. D’Arcy and Mr. Brent are helping to man them and I’m ready to give a hand when I’m needed.”

When morning came there were five feet of water in the hold. The pumps were working hard and the Captain said he had the situation under control. A stewardess brought breakfast to Adeline in her cabin. She had changed into dry things but had not slept. The tiny room was in a state of disorder, her wet clothing, the belongings of Philip and the baby, scatter promiscuously and depressingly. She felt herself being sucked down into a vortex of confusion, rather than of fear. But the hot tea, the bread and bacon, put life into her. She sat on the edge of the berth and combed out her hair. A pale sunlight filtered in at the porthole. She noticed the lively beauty of her hair. “It would look like this, even if I were drowning,” she thought, half resentfully.

In the silver mirror of her dressing case, she saw how pale her face was. She bit her lips to bring some colour into them.

“When do you think we shall get to Newfoundland?” she asked the Scotch stewardess.

“Oh, we’ll get there right enough.”

“How far are we from Ireland?”

“Perhaps six hundred miles.”

“How is Mrs. Cameron this morning?”

“Ah, she’s fell waur o’ the wear.”

“And her daughter?”

“Fast asleep. Like your own bairn, poor we lamb!” She cast an accusing look at Adeline.

“My brother looked after my baby very well last night,” said Adeline haughtily, for little Augusta had not been in her thoughts all night. “You say she is fast asleep? Is she with her ayay?”

“Aye. She’s with what’s left of the ayah — for the woman is more dead than alive.” The stewardess stood balancing the tray against the reeling of the ship.

“Merciful heaven,” cried Adeline, “what a miserable company we are!”

She crossed the passage to the ayah’s cabin and looked in. In the pale sunlight nurse and infant looked equally fragile and remote. But they were sleeping peacefully. Adeline summoned the stewardess.

“Take that basin away,” she said in a low but furious tone. “Make the place decent with as little noise as you can.”

Adeline went to Mrs. Cameron’s cabin. All was neat there but the poor woman lay on her berth exhausted after her last bout of seasickness. The air was heavy with the scent of Eau de Cologne. It was as though someone had emptied a bottle in there. Mary was seated in front of the tiny dressing table gazing at herself in the glass with a fascinated look. She was unaware of the opening of the door but continued to give her large-eyed reflection stare for stare, while the ship heaved and a cupboard door flew open, then banged shut, with each roll. Adeline laughed.

“Well, what do you think of yourself?” she asked.

“Oh, Mrs. Whiteoak,” answered Mary. “I’m pretty — pretty! I have travelled right round the world and never found it out till now.”

“Well,” said Adeline, “it is a queer time to have discovered it. But if it’s a comfort to you, I’m glad you think so.”
Still gazing at her reflection the girl answered: —

“Don’t you?”

Adeline laughed again. “I’m in no state to judge but I shall take a good look at you later on. Can I do anything for your mother?”

“She feels a little better, she says. She just wants to be quiet.”

“Have you had any sleep?”

“A little. I’m not tired.”

“You’re a better traveller than I am. Have they brought you breakfast.”

“Oh, yes. The stewardess is very kind. So is your brother. He’s so brave too.”

“Well, I’m glad of that. I’m going now to see how the boys are getting on.”

“May I come with you?”

“No. Stay with your mother.”

Adeline found Sholto recovering from his seasickness. He was sipping coffee and eating a hard biscuit but he was very pale. Conway was changing into dry clothes. Adeline noticed the milky whiteness of his skin and how his chest and neck were fuller than one would judge from his face.

“Oh, Adeline,” exclaimed Sholto, “I wish I’d never come on this voyage! We shall quite likely go down. Oh, I do wish I were back in Ireland with Mamma and Papa and Timothy and all!”

“Nonsense,” said Adeline, sitting down on the side of the berth. “In a few days you’ll be laughing at this. Here, eat your biscuit.”

She took it from his hand and broke off a morsel of it and put it in his mouth. He relaxed and she fed him the rest of the biscuit in this way as though her were a baby.

She turned to Conway. “Go and find Philip and tell him I want him. Just say I must see him and that it is important.”

“What do you want him for?”

She flashed a look of command at him. “Do as I say, Con.”

“Very well. But he probably won’t come.” He tied his cravat with as much care as though he were about to make a call.

“Oh, what a little fop you are!” she cried. “To think of you
fiddling with your tie and soon we may all be at the bottom!”

Sholto hurled himself back on the pillow.

“You said everything was all right. You said we’d be laughing about this!” he sobbed.

“Now you’ve done it!” exclaimed Conway. He opened the door and went into the passage but it was a struggle to close the door after him against the rolling of the ship. Adeline had to go and put her weight against it.