To the Ends of the Earth (32 page)

“I repeat, I cannot let you go tonight without more than such a mark of favour as might have been bestowed on any gentleman in either ship! Stay if only for a moment—”

“I am Cinderella, you know, and must run back—”

“Say rather in your fairy coach.”

“Oh, it would turn to a pumpkin!”

From the deck of
Alcyone
came the dulcet voice of Lady Somerset. 

“Marion dear!”

“Then say you do not regard me as little as these other gentlemen—”

She turned to me and I saw how her eyes shone in the gloom; and the whisper reached me, as heartfelt as a whisper can be.

“Oh—no indeed!”

She was gone. 

My tears came again. Good God, I was a leaky vessel, used to keep my waters to myself but now cracked from top to bottom! I stood, my feet rooted to the deck, but this time by happiness not fear. Will there ever be a moment for me to match it? I do not think so. Unless—Captain Anderson turned, grunted me a “Good night, Talbot,” and was about to ascend the stairs when Deverel emerged, or rather staggered, from below them. He carried a paper in his hand, came towards Anderson, then stood in front of him. He thrust the paper into the captain’s face.

“Resign commission—private gentleman—issue formal challenge—”

“Turn in, Deverel! You are drunk!”

Now there ensued the most extraordinary scene in that semi-darkness which only the distant lights from the great stern lantern modified. For as Deverel endeavoured to make the captain take the paper the captain retreated. It became a chase, a ludicrous but deadly parody of “Touch” or “Blindman’s Buff”, for the captain dodged round the mainmast and Deverel chased him. Not convinced that the captain did this to avoid being struck—possibly a capital offence—Deverel shouted “Coward! Coward!” and
continued
to pursue. Now Summers and Mr Askew with Mr Gibbs behind them came running. One of them cannoned into the captain so that Deverel, following close behind, reached him at last. I could not see if the collision was intentional but certainly Deverel thought it was and cried out in triumph, to disappear almost instantly beneath a heap of the other officers. The captain leaned against the mainmast. He was breathing heavily. 

“Mr Summers.”

Summers’s voice came, muffled, from the flailing heap.

“Sir.”

“Put him in irons.”

At that there was a positively animal howl from Deverel and the heap convulsed. The howling went on except when it was interrupted as Deverel sank his teeth into Mr Gibbs who took up the howling and cursing in his place. The group of struggling men moved away towards the shelter of the aftercastle, then disappeared. Shocked, I saw a shadowy Sir Henry climb to
Alcyone
’s quarterdeck. He seemed to be peering across at our ship. But he said nothing.

Young Mr Willis came running in his shirt, then
disappeared
forward. Captain Anderson stood by the folded paper that lay on the deck. He was breathing heavily and quickly. He spoke to me.

“I did not receive it, Mr Talbot. Pray be a witness to that.”

“Receive in what sense, Captain Anderson?”

“I did not agree to take it. I made no move to take it.”

I said nothing. Young Mr Willis returned. One of the older seamen came behind him with something clanking in his hand.

“What the devil?”

“It is the blacksmith,” said Captain Anderson with his usual abruptness. “He is needed to restrain the prisoner.”

“Good God! Good God!”

Summers came running.

“Sir, he is motionless. He is collapsed. Do you think—”

I could
feel
the captain lowering at him.

“Carry out my orders, Mr Summers. Since you are so tender you shall have them confirmed later in writing.”

“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Now that paper on the deck. It is material evidence. 
Observe I do not touch it. Kindly pick it up and take charge of it. You will be required to produce it later.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Mr Talbot, you have noted everything?”

I said nothing.

“Mr Talbot!”

What was best for poor Deverel? My head, no longer concerned with anything but the overwhelming absence of Marion Chumley, my love, my saint, had no place left in it for the severities of the law nor for calculation!

“I do not wish to interfere in a service matter.”

Captain Anderson uttered that double cachinnation which the novelist is accustomed to denote inadequately by the letters “Ha! Ha!” But in this case they are more than inadequate, they are misleading. For they conveyed, if anything, his opinion of me and my actions in a less than flattering manner. It was nothing so cheery as
laughter
. It might be what the Old Testament credits the war horse with when it utters a like sound “in the midst of the battle”. He was expressing his opinion of me in a way which could not be committed to paper and produced in evidence. It was clear that his opinion was unflattering. But subduing everything in me was my enchantment, my overthrow, sweet as it had been, and my need to get away and lie in that sweetness until at last after how many days and years I slept.

It made me angry.

“Devil take it, what do you expect of me? I am as aware as you are of the circumstances and their implications—”

“I do not think so, sir.”

“It is possible that everything said in these moments may be produced in evidence. I will
not
be hasty!”

Captain Anderson lowered up at me in the gloom. Then with an abrupt nod he turned away and marched up to the quarterdeck. I held my head. Somewhere below us 
there sounded the hideous blows of a hammer on iron. I went to the gangway where even now a marine stood at one end and a soldier at the other. I retraced my steps and tiptoed up to the quarterdeck, then leaned on the rail to see if I could judge the exact spot behind the wooden wall where Marion might be trying to sleep. Sir Henry came across the deck.

“Sir Henry!”

“That was the devil of a row! Is all well now?”

“Sir Henry, I must speak with you!”

“Oh, Lord! Well, never let it be said a Somerset was less than obliging to a FitzHenry. Come aboard, my boy—no, not here, devil take it! Do you want to fall in the drink? There, by the gangway!”

I made my way round and he met me at the break of
Alcyone
’s poop.

“Now then, it’s about little Marion, is it not? A
charming
girl but if you wish to correspond, my dear boy, you must get permission from Lady Somerset—”

“No, no, Sir Henry, it is more than that—”

“Good God! The little minx!”

“She is all sweetness, sir. I beg you will let me take passage in
Alcyone
.”

“Good God! Have you—”

“I am Mahomet.”

“Good God! You’ve been drinking, curse it, that’s what it is!”

“No, sir! I wish to take passage—”

“Your career, my boy, your godfather, your mother, devil take it, what is all this about?”

“I—”

But what was I? Where was I?

“I’d do most things to oblige you, lad, but this is beyond anything!”

“I beg you, sir!” 

“Of course, I was forgetting. You’ve had a rare clout over the head, my boy! Now come along!”

“Let me go!”

“Lend us a hand here!”

I do not know even now how Charles Summers appeared and Cumbershum. The soldier at the gangway must have helped. All I remember clearly as they forced me back was thinking that if Marion heard what went on she would never forgive me—and then I was being pushed into my bunk, with Wheeler pulling my pumps and unmentionables off. There was the pungent odour of the paregoric.

It seems probable that without Colley’s natural ability in the art of description there is no way in which I can convey the confusion of what happened. Nor do I know at what point I became delirious nor, what is stranger and more awful to contemplate, at what point previously I had become delirious! I am told that the surgeon, called out of his bunk, did indeed come across to our ship and examine me, though I have no recollection of it. Perhaps then it was a young man in the grips of a real, physical fever induced by triple blows who dreamed of a meal in
Alcyone
and all that followed thereon? But no. I have been assured these things happened and that I conducted myself with no more than the
élan
natural in a young man until, that is, I went aboard our neighbour ship in the dark and spoke with Sir Henry. Then, as if some hold or brake had given suddenly, I became temporarily disordered in my wits. Certainly I remember—not fighting—but struggling with the group which was trying to restrain me. I remember, too, how desperately I tried to explain the absolute necessity of my transfer to
Alcyone
, a declaration of nothing but the truth, but taken by my nurses or gaolers as further proof of the derangement consequent on my wounded head! Then, while they removed my 
clothes I found that I could not say what I meant at all but was forced to utter a string of absurdities. I was in Colley’s bunk, for when they got me to what had been mine, of course it was empty, so I was bundled across the lobby and heaved not without more danger to my head into a bunk forever reminiscent of that unhappy man.
Alcyone
’s surgeon they tell me could only advise rest and promised a complete cure at the end of it since my skull was not cracked. So, busily gabbling of what neither they nor I understood, I lay held down, while somehow they got the paregoric into me in a dose that rapidly had me singing for joy among the angels. So singing and so
weeping
with joy I fell at last into what we must call a healing sleep.

If to be restored to a complete understanding of one’s situation is to be healed let us all, all prefer sickness. I did swim now and then up towards consciousness; or since the effect of the opiate was to elevate me towards some seventh heaven, let us say that now and then I swam or dived down towards consciousness without ever getting there. I remember faces—Charles Summers as might be expected, Miss Granham, Mrs Brocklebank. I am told that I implored Miss Granham to sing. Oh, the
humiliations
of delirium! The sordid, the very humbling
necessities
of the sickroom! Nor was my cabined humiliation complete, for I was to set a positive fool’s cap on it myself—though once again if I am to be blamed it is for being so physically clumsy as to do nothing but bang my head while all the other passengers were obediently
contributing
to our defence! Delirious or sane I must remain enraged with myself and with my fate.

Partial understanding did return. As it had departed at a bound so it came back. I was aware of movement, my head thrust against the pillow, then allowed to fall back. I lay as this happened numberless times; and then, like a 
blast of cold wind, the understanding was there—we were under weigh, the wind was up and the sea. These were no flat regions but waters furrowed and rolling. I remember crying out. I fell out of my bunk, scrabbled the door open on the streaming lobby. Then I was out on deck, up the stairs and climbing into the shrouds, climbing up and howling some senseless words or other.

Yes. I remember that; and yes, I have pieced the episode together in all its absurdity. The ship is making what way she can over a beam sea and with much wind. For all the wind her way is little because the stumps of masts will not allow of a full spread. Few people are on deck, thank God. But then a haggard young man, shaggy as to the hair, and bearded not a little, staggers out from under the aftercastle, his thin body plainly to be
discerned
beneath the nightshirt that beats against him in the wind! He crawls up the shrouds, then clings, staring forward at the empty horizon and screaming at it!

“Come back! Come back!”

They got me down. They say I did not resist but finally allowed myself to be carried like a corpse and laid once more in Colley’s bunk. I remember how Summers removed the key from the lock and put it in again on the outside. After that, for a time, any visitor unlocked the door, then locked it behind him when he left. I had declined to the status of a madman and prisoner. I remember, too, how when Summers left the first time and I was alone how I lay on my back and began to weep.

No man can weep for ever. There came a time when my preoccupation with my sorrow was first mixed and then near enough swallowed up in an awareness that the
movement
of our ship was not such as it had been, but more nagging and restless, with moments which seemed not so much of petulance as of fierce anger. I felt too weak to understand or combat it and fell into a childish panic at the thought of being worn down and abandoned in a
sinking
ship. I remember at last, God help me, shouting for Charles Summers, then bawling at Wheeler when he appeared instead.

“I must see Mr Summers! Get him!”

After that there was a long interval while the ship did its best to fling me out of my bunk. At last Charles appeared. He stood in the doorway, holding it open and frowning down at me.

“Again? What is it this time, Edmund?”

The words “this time” brought me up short.

“I am sorry. I believe I have been delirious.”

“That will be all, Wheeler! I am speaking to Mr Talbot. Look, Edmund, I am the ship’s husband—”

“The what?”

“I am responsible for more things than you can imagine. With the greatest goodwill in the world I cannot spare more than a little time for you! Now what is it?”

“The movement. It is killing me.”

“Good heavens, Edmund, you are far down. Listen. You have been injured.
Alcyone
’s surgeon said you are suffering from delayed concussion. Sleep and rest are what he recommended.” 

“Neither is possible with the ship moving so.”

“The movement cannot be helped. Will you be easier if I explain it?”

“I might feel easier to know we aren’t sinking.”

He paused for a moment, then laughed.

“Well then—do you understand the mechanism of a clock?”

“What do you take me for? A clockmaker? I know how to wind up my repeater. That’s enough.”

“Come. That’s more like the old Edmund.”

His mouth was open to say more but he was
interrupted
by the sounds of a screaming fit from one of the cabins at a distance from us. Perhaps it was the Pike
children
, in a quarrel near to hysteria. Charles ignored the screams and spoke again.

“A ship is a pendulum. The shorter a pendulum is, the quicker its oscillation. Our rig is shortened, in other words we have shortened our pendulum, and accelerated our motion. A completely dismasted ship can have a period of roll so brief there is no living with it, people are so flung about and sick and exhausted. I suppose ships have been lost so.”

“But not us!”

“Of course not. The most this additional movement will do is discomfort our passengers. They do indeed need all the comfort they can get. Some of the gentlemen are gathered in the saloon. They spoke of you and wished you one of their number.”

I sat up laboriously in my bunk.

“Accept my apologies, Mr Summers. I shall pull myself together and do what I can to cheer the other ladies and gentlemen.”

Charles laughed, but amiably enough this time.

“From the depths of despair to a noble resolve in less than ten seconds! You are more mercurial than I supposed.” 

“Nothing like that.”

“Well. The gentlemen will welcome you though you would be better advised to stay where you are like the ladies.”

“I have been too long in my bunk.”

Charles removed the key from the outside of the door and put it in the lock inside.

“Whatever you do, Edmund, take great care. Remember, one hand for yourself and one for the ship! In your case I advise both hands for yourself—you have been beaten about the head more than enough already.”

So saying, he withdrew.

I climbed out of my bunk as cautiously as I could and inspected my face in the mirror. The sight appalled me. Not only was I heavily unshaven, my face was so thin as to be positively bony. I passed a finger over the
prominent
ridges of my cheeks, touched my high, but now thin nose, pushed the hair off my forehead. It is surely
impossible
that a skull should shrink!

I shouted for Wheeler who came with an instantaneity which showed he had been standing just outside the door. I had him help me to dress, refused his offer to shave me and then did it myself in a cupful of water which was no more than lukewarm when I started and stone-cold when I had finished. However, I contrived to perform the whole with no more than a single nick on my left cheek which in view of the ship’s movement was a considerable achievement. Wheeler stood by me the while. He begged my pardon for making the suggestion but said that even if I was about to join the gentlemen in the saloon I should wear my India rubber boots there was so much water washing about. So observe me at last stumping, legs wide apart, one hand on the rail which was fastened to the
outside
of the passenger hutches. The ship swung me about pettishly and sheets of water slid across the darkened 
wood of the lobby. I knew at once it was not merely my weakness which made movement difficult. What was only tedious before was now an evil tax on strength.

Whatever talk had been among them, there was a silence for a while when I appeared. They sat round one end of the long table immediately under the stern window. Mr Bowles, the solicitor’s clerk, was at the end. Oldmeadow, the young officer, sat on his left with Mr Prettiman left again. Mr Pike faced them. I reached the table at a run and collapsed on the bench next to him. Oldmeadow looked across at me down his nose. He means no hauteur by this carriage of the head. It is only natural to him because the extraordinary helmet the officers of his regiment wear has increased the angle somewhat and habituated him to it. He himself is the mildest and least warlike of men.

“I trust you are feeling more the thing, Talbot? It is good of you to join us.”

“I am perfectly recovered, thank you.”

That was a lie but in a good cause. Nevertheless it failed, for Mr Bowles shook his head at me.

“You do not look recovered, Mr Talbot. But then, all of us are affected.”

“Oh, surely not! The movement if anything is
cheering
.”

“Not to me. And not to the women and children.”

As if to emphasize his speech, outside the great stern window the horizon sloped the other way with particular speed, then vanished downwards. The wet deck beneath lifted us up, then left us suspended as it fell. I felt sweat start out on my forehead.

“I think, gentlemen, that—”

But Bowles, whose stomach seemed indifferent to these antics, was going on.

“Now you are here, sir, you had better be co-opted at once. The motion—” 

“It is due to the shortening of our rig, gentlemen. A pendulum—which is what—”

Bowles raised his hand.

“Not that motion, Mr Talbot. I refer to the motion before the committee.”

“My children must be considered, Mr Talbot. And Mrs Pike, of course. But the little children, my Phoebe and my Arabella—”

I braced myself and emitted what I hope was a
convincing
laugh.

“Well, gentlemen, you surprise me! Britannia rules the waves, we all know, but—”

“We believe there may be a remedy.”

“How? I cannot think what remedy you have found for a difficulty which is inherent in our situation! Or have you some such scheme as poor Dryden must have had in his head? I remember reading in his
Annus Mirabilis
where he describes in our seafight against the Dutch how the sailors when the masts were shot away ‘raised them higher than before’.”

“Mr Talbot—”

“And you know, even to a young landsman as I was then, the concept seemed the height of absurdity! I do not think that—”

Mr Prettiman shouted.

“Mr Bowles was elected chairman of this meeting, sir! Do you wish it adjourned or will you leave it?”

“Allow me, Mr Prettiman. Mr Talbot may be forgiven for supposing this is no more than a social gathering. Now, sir. We have constituted ourselves an
ad hoc
committee and come to certain conclusions. We wish to bring to the captain’s notice, not so much our opinions, for it is
doubtful
that we have any right to them, but our deep feelings. I have the heads jotted down here. One. A prolonged
continuation
of the ship’s movement as she endeavours to 
make way against the wind in her present unsteady
condition
constitutes a real danger to life and limb—particularly where the women and children are concerned. Two. We suppose that relief might be found by an alteration of course away from the wind and towards a South American port where the ship might be repaired and our health restored.”

I shook my head.

“If such an alteration was necessary our officers would have made it.”

Oldmeadow cawed into his collar in the way these
fellows
have when affecting to laugh.

“No, by Jove, Talbot. They may think of the ship and the people there in the front end but we may go whistle for consideration—and the Army most of all!”

“It would tediously prolong the time we spend in our voyage.”

“Little Phoebe and Arabella—”

Bowles raised his hand again.

“One moment, Mr Pike. We hoped that you would agree with us, Mr Talbot. But then, does your agreement
signify
?”

“I beg your pardon, sir!”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I mean that in the event the decision is not mine or yours but the captain’s. All we plan at the moment is to make our wishes known. In fact, Mr Talbot, I must break it to you that
in
absentia
you have been elected to—how shall I say—bell the cat!”

“The devil!”

“There was no one more able, Mr Talbot, we knew that—and you could take poor little Phoebe along and pull up her smock and show him the rash which I do not think is to be borne, sir, and what will happen if—”

“Mr Pike, for the love of God!”

“Or if you think it beneath you I will take her along—” 

“Damn your insolence, Pike! I will take her along or them along or anyone along! Oh, for God’s sake, all of you, let me think! I have been—”

I put my head down in my wet palms. Sick to the stomach—in love with a girl gone over the reeling horizon, head split and aching inside and out—the taste in my mouth of vomit already.

Bowles spoke softly.

“It is a compliment to you, sir. We are in your hands. No one else is so likely to have influence with the captain. Your godfather—”

I shook my head and he fell silent. I thought for a while.

“You are going the wrong way about it. An approach to the captain must be your last resort. Personally, I do not agree that we should alter course. Children are liable to rashes. Why—my young brothers—we ought to endure—carry on across this wilderness until we reach our end. But you have touched my, my . . . I will try to persuade the first lieutenant that he should carry your wishes to the captain. If he will not, or if the captain refuses that first approach, then yes, I myself will go to him.” At last I took my head out of my hands and blinked round at them.

“We must go with great care. The position of a
passenger
in a ship of war—the captain’s power may well be absolute. Who would have thought when I said he was our moghool that this occasion was waiting round the
corner
? I will make your views known to the first lieutenant. He may even be on deck—and now—”

I stood up and bowed. I reeled to the door and took a clumsy run through the streaming lobby, got the door of the hutch open and collapsed on my bunk. When Wheeler entered, he having, I suspected, waited outside the saloon door and then my door—and was only happy it seemed within arm’s length of me as if he were harnessed for my 
convenience—Wheeler helped me into my oilskins. I muttered a queasy dismissal and he replied that he would remain to clean the cabin and “do what he could” with the bunk. I gave little thought to his curious assiduity but slumped for a while in my canvas chair to get myself together. At last I hauled myself to my feet and opened the door as the sheet of water in the lobby splashed over the combing which is supposed to keep it out of our hutches. I went forward into the daylight of the waist, holding on where possible. There was wind on the left, a grey sky above, grey sea, dirty white foam, a wet ship drab as the skirts of a beggar woman. The water in the lobby was as nothing to the positive tides of it which made an intermittent hazard of the open deck. There were safety lines rigged everywhere. These daunted by implication rather than invited and seemed at best no more than ropes tying together the wet, belaboured box that was our ship. I saw a seaman working his way along a rope to the fo’castle. He held on with one hand while a wave washed over him as high as his waist and a torrent of foaming water fell on his head and shoulders from the fo’castle itself. I waited for a pause in our motion, then made a staggering run to the windward side of the ship and hung on to a belaying pin under the ship’s rail. I opened my mouth wide and took great gulps of the wet air which at least served to quell the unease of my stomach. I felt as strong an irritation at this latest demand on my tact and ingenuity as ever I had done when asked by Charles Summers to do what I could for the wretched Colley! And success, a turning aside from our present course to redirect the ship towards the coast of South America, would do no more for me myself than delay my arrival in the Antipodes! It would put beyond all possibility those faint hopes—a delay at the Cape of Good Hope—even their ship delayed and rescued by us as she wallowed
mastless on our course—of seeing Miss Chumley once more before the remotest of remote futures!

I cursed aloud. As if to torment me further our ship, struck by a seventh wave, bucked like a frightened horse and seemed to remain without forward movement, for all her straining sails. I stared round me trying to understand what I could of our situation and I was rendered very thoughtful by what I saw.

The last time I had watched the conduct of our ship in such weather had been in the English Channel. There, as if she were aware that she was under the eye of Old England, for all the boisterousness of the sea and sky she had seemed to take part and revel in the friendly contest. She did so no more. Like a horse which knows itself tired and moving further and further away from its stable, she jibbed and went slow. She was sullen and needed a touch of the whip—better still, a whiff of the manger! Although her bows were pointed up towards the wind she had next to no forward movement. The waves passed under her—or sometimes, it seemed, over her—but she did hardly more than heave up, then slide down into the same trough in the same place. I dared to haul myself upright and peer over the rail by me. I was rewarded by the sight of what looked like green hair swirling among foam as if those fabled and inimical sisters swam about us holding us back and pulling us down! Before I had recovered from the cold thrill of the sight the whole sea with its hair and foam rose at me, over me, drowned me, pulled at me with appalling strength so that my two hands clutched round the iron barrel of the belaying pin were no more than just enough to prevent me from being washed clean out of the ship and lost for ever.