The Forgotten Story (29 page)

Perry was still alone in the saloon, leaning heavily on the table with a glass before him and water swilling about his knees. He had been singing glassily to himself, having almost achieved the end he had not thought possible.

‘ 'Elp me to get the cap'n up,' said May. ‘We're drivin' in 'pon the land. Stand a chance.'

Perry followed him into the cabin. May had already explained the position to Mrs Veal. She was standing up, steadying herself by holding to a bookshelf which had long since emptied its books into the water at her feet. She had put on her hat and coat, and her pince-nez was awry. She looked highly indignant that this was happening to her and peered at May with hostility for disturbing her.

‘On deck,' Perry said thickly. ‘All hands. Safest place now. There's rocks ahead. Get the boy. Bring him up. Safest on deck.'

Captain Stevens said: ‘Leave me here. Look to yourselves.'

‘Come along now,' said May.

Between them the two men lifted the captain from his bunk and staggered with him out of the cabin. For the moment the onset of immediate danger had cleared Perry's brain; he was not so much afraid of the sea. The companion was not sufficiently wide to allow of three abreast, but he brought up the rear without stumbling.

Left behind, Madge took off her pince-nez and carefully stowed them away in an inner pocket of her dress. Without them her face looked curiously bare, bare and plain and commonplace; passing in the street you would not have given it another glance. She drew on her kid gloves, fastened the two buttons of her black astrakhan cloak, took out her hatpin and thrust it back in a different position, picked up her bag. Her mind could not visualise what the scene was likely to be on deck. She could not dissociate herself from the conviction that she would step into a dinghy and be rowed ashore. That was the only fitting way out. Her sense of dignity would not allow it to be otherwise.

She splashed her way across the saloon to the stairs but turned back towards the spare cabin. There was the boy in there. She reached the door of the spare cabin and then saw that there was a key in the lock and that the door was of good teak. She turned her head without haste in the direction of the companion way. The others were already on deck. She put out a gloved hand and turned the key. Then she took out the key and dropped it in the water.

She turned away and crossed the saloon and began to climb the slippery companion ladder towards the deck.

By noon of that day the worst of the gale had spent itself, though the seas were mountainous and puffs of foam still eddied about the streets of Sawle. Before dark the sky cleared and the sun came out.

All day the village had been in a hubbub. Most of the survivors were housed in the Tavern Inn, but one or two had overflowed into the cottages of hospitable neighbours. Altogether it had been a busy time, and when evening came the bar of the Tavern Inn was crowded with men in need of something to wet their parched throats and congenial company with whom to share the experiences of the day. Wrecks were not so frequent as they had once been, and this one had yielded interesting dividends in crew and cargo.

All the members of the life-saving rocket crew were there, except Tom Mitchell, who was a little boy and had been put to bed, and Abraham Jarvis who was a teetotaller, and Mike Smith who had begun celebrating too early and had gone to sleep outside his own front door. There had been one or two reporters down during the day asking questions and taking photographs and generally getting in the way, and tonight two had arrived from Plymouth and had attached themselves to Benjamin Blatchford, the captain of the crew.

Now that all that could be done while daylight lasted had been done, he was not averse from giving them an account of the wreck in return for a measure of free beer. Ben Blatchford had a wholesome dislike for charity; he would not have accepted a free drink from a foreigner in ordinary circumstances; but in this case he was giving the two reporters something in exchange, so that set things to rights in his mind.

The bar was full of smoke and noise and good-humoured banter.

‘Mind you,' he said reasonably, ‘ 'twas Abe Jarvis's idea to pull the old gun round upon that point. I think 'twould have come to one or another of us soon enough, but he thought on it first. “Try 'er over to Sawle Point,” he said. “ Run her down right b'low Hoskin's field.” And sure'nough, though 'twas plaguey work gettin' 'er thur, once she was thur, first rocket fell plumb acrost the barque. Handsome bit o' shooting, 'twas, though I say it myself. We'd the wind almost abeam, see? A nice judgment was all that was required.'

‘About how long did it take to get them all off, Mr Blatchford?' asked one reporter with gold-rimmed spectacles.

‘… Once the line was took fast, you mean? I couldn't say that fur certain; we wasn't looking at no clocks. A 'our, p'raps. Thur was no time to waaste, mark you, not a minute to waaste. We was all sweatin' bad when 'twas over, though the wind was as cold as charity. That's what I said at the time. “ Thur's no time to waaste, lads,” I said. “We must get the line acrost now,” I said, “or else …” '

The reporter nodded sympathetically. ‘Yes, I suppose it was touch and go. Who did you rescue first; the lady passenger, I suppose?'

Ben Blatchford wiped his beard. ‘No. They sent the ship's boy over first to test the line. Then the captain –'

‘The captain? I thought usually –'

‘He was 'urt about the ribs. He was in a bad way when he come over. We thought he was dead, but 'e was only knocked out. They do say he's been took to Truro Infirmary. The lady came third. Then seven of the crew, mate last. That made the lot.'

‘Was she the captain's wife?'

‘No.'

‘Ah,' said the other reporter, scenting romance.

‘They do say as she owned the ship.'

‘Is she still in Sawle, do you know?'

‘In the Tavern Inn when last I heard. They give her the best room over the parlour. So Mrs Nichols says, and I've no cause to think ' er a liar.'

‘Another pint, Mr Blatchford? Certainly. Three pints,
if
you please, miss. I wonder if we could see her, George? Might add a feminine interest.'

‘I'll have a shot later. Carry on, Mr Blatchford, what were you saying?'

‘ 'Lo, Tom,' said Ben Blatchford, putting down his mug. ‘Got away from the missus at last? Rare good job she made of getting that barrel ashore this morning. What was in it?'

‘Well, I s'pose you 'ad your eye on it yourself, Ben Blatchford?'

A good-tempered wrangle sprang up amid the smoke, and other voices joined in. Mr Nichols, the landlord, leaned his elbows on the bar and argued with a fat man in a tight red jersey. In the corner a blind man nodded his head and grinned and chewed his toothless jaws. Presently Blatchford gave his attention to the reporters.

‘Do we understand that a man was drowned, Mr Blatchford? A member of the crew?'

‘No, 'twas a passenger. Tried to swim ashore wi' a line when they thought we was not going to get a line aboard. Foolish that, but they say there was no 'olding him. Said 'e'd been a champion swimmer and wouldn't listen. Many a man's done it before. ' Tis a question of keeping your nerve, see? Before now, I've seen 'em try to launch a boat. A pity, for 'tis just throwing away good lives. We always try to signal to 'em to stay where they are, but they won't see.'

‘This passenger; was he any relative to the lady, do you know?'

‘Brother, I bla'. But you'd best ask her, didn't you?' Ben Blatchford's small grey eyes brooded on nothing as he re-lit his pipe. ‘ He'd be sucked out, ye see. They always are. They say when he went under they pulled in the line, but it had broke. What else did they expect? 'Twas a pity, too.' Blatchford's eyes transferred themselves to the spectacled reporter. They seemed to mourn the loss of a man.

‘Those two were the only passengers, I suppose? Sad, as you say, that one of them should have been lost. All the crew were saved, I take it?'

The Cornishman's eyebrows came together in a slow frown.

‘Thur was one other passenger.'

‘A man? He was saved, I presume?'

‘No-o … A boy. A lad of eleven or twelve, I s'pose. No … He got lef be'ind.'

The noise in the bar had increased during the last few minutes, and the two reporters pressed forward so as not to miss any word which came from the bearded lips of the man who was speaking to them. But for a moment he did not go on.

‘Left on the wreck?' prompted the spectacled reporter. ‘ Then there were two lives lost. How did that happen?'

‘Gracious knows. There was some confusion betwixt the first boy that come over and this one, they do say. An' then wi' the captain being knocked out … Mebbe you can imagine what 'tis like on the deck of a ship which is being washed b' the sea. 'Tisn't a time when you always remember to count 'eads. I reckon 'twas the leddy's fault; he was with she, and she ought to have seen he was took off wi' the rest.' Blatchford stroked his beard. ‘One thing did seem a straange thing to 'appen. He'd somehow got himself locked up in a cabin in the captain's quarters. Whether he'd locked himself in thur fur safety, or …'

The reporter motioned for another refill. ‘Has the boy's body been recovered, do you know?'

Blatchford's eyes travelled to the approaching mug. ‘Oh, the boy was all right. 'E were as safe as any of ' em. We found him thur still in the cabin when the tide went out. Scared, you know, as any young tacker would be. Scared, but keepin' his end up like a good 'un. Just broke down a bit when we busted the door in. Boys o' that age have plenty o' give an' take, as you might say. Like a sapling, bend but won't break, see? I well remember when I was ten … Yes, 'e's upstairs too. They put 'im to bed, and I bla' Landlord Nichols gave 'im a tot o' brandy to keep the chill out … But I can't understand ' ow that thur door come to be locked.'

In a cottage on the opposite side of the square from the Tavern Inn two of the crew, Anderson and Mallett, had met again after having been separated by minor injuries and lack of dry clothes. They were both men who had been with Stevens in
The Grey Cat
for some years.

They sat for a time before the fire, glad of safety and a pipe of tobacco and not anxious for speech. The two old people who owned the cottage had left them alone.

‘Funny thing,' Anderson said at last. ‘Funny thing about old Veal's brother, Perry Veal, or whatever 'e was called. Funny thing about 'im. You was near ' im when 'e says 'e'll swim. I'd got me finger broke an' I'd not much mind for anythink else, like. But I sees ' im wavin' 'is ' ands like a preacher. What was 'e wantin'?'

‘A line,' said Mallett.

‘Well, wasn't you wantin' to give 'im one?'

‘O'Brien wasn't. O'Brien didn't want to. O'Brien thought as they might still get a rocket over. 'E didn't see as Veal'd do it, champion swimmer or no. With the Old Man bein' knocked out … Well, it was like this. You mind when we struck? D'you see ' em come up on deck about five minutes before?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, it was like this. May come up first, more or less carryin' the Ole Man. Then come Perry Veal staggerin' as if 'e was in two ships and near gettin' washed overboard first wave. You seen that. Then Mrs V. clawin' 'er way up, 'at goin' one way an' bag the other. Well, two minutes later they was flattened up agin' the after bulwarks along of me and Peter.'

‘That was when we struck.'

‘Aye. Aye, we struck just then. An' over we went in a'eap, clingin' for dear life as if we was all goin' over the side. Then the mizzen topm'st cracked right over our 'eads, an' she come up again, drainin' all the sea off of her deck like Niagara Falls. I was next to Perry Veal and the old lady was the other side of 'im. 'E was brimmin' over wi' drink, I could see that. I don't know ' ow you was fixed, but where we was, tilted the way we was, we was sheltered from the worst of the wind. And we looks up and tries to see what the coast looks like before the next wave smacks over the top and washes the guts out of us. An' then, mark you, I 'ears Perry Veal say to Mrs V., Where's the Somethin'-or-other?'

‘Where's the what?'

‘I don't know what. I don't catch what. And she says: “ Follerin' me up. Just be'ind me.” Then they lies quiet for a few minutes while O'Brien tries to get the distress flares goin'.'

‘They was a wash-out.'

‘Like everythin' else. Then, when we was splutterin'and breathin' in a bit of air after a back-wash, I 'ears Perry Veal say again, Where's the Somethin'? Bag, I thought, but 'e talked so thick.'

‘Boy, mebbe.'

‘Well, I might've guessed that if I'd knowed there was a boy except for Mike aboard. An' she says, high-pitched an' hoarse, “ 'E was follerin' me up, I tell you!” Then Peter sighted the rocket crew on the cliffs, and for the next ten minutes I was watchin' them too close for to have time to spare for Perry Veal. But when I looks next 'e was soil clingin' there, lookin' at 'er like as if 'e'd never moved in ten minutes. Just starin' at ' er till I thought 'e'd got a fit. Not lookin' at the rockets fallin' in the sea. Lookin' at ' er. Then O'Brien crawls over and says: “It's a poor chanct we've got, bhoys. Every man for hisself if she breaks up.” Then Perry looks at 'im like 'e was dreamin', an' his face twitches, and then he looks at Mrs V. again, and when O'Brien 'as crawled away he shouts the same question at ' er as before, though she's 'alf drowned with water suckin' about 'er waist. An' when the water goes back she doesn't answer 'im nothin' this time, but just looks at ' im one of 'er hoity-toity looks. Then –'