To the Ends of the Earth (66 page)

I will not detail my sufferings. Did they pay for
anything
? I think not. But there came a time when my body was well enough to let me understand the situation. My godfather was dead. Charles was dead. All those people were gone from me as surely as if they had stayed and been consumed in the burning ship.

No trace of Charles was ever found. At low water the wreck had disintegrated and displayed her bowels for all to examine who would. He was gone. A service of
remembrance
was held and Charles praised as a devoted servant among those who have no memorial but have vanished away as though they had never been. I was praised far more than I deserved, but I knew grief feelingly. I dreamed of him and them and the dead ship. I woke with tears on my face to endure yet another day of harsh, intolerable
sunlight
. It was in the driest and emptiest of interior
illuminations
that I saw myself at last for what I was, and what were my scanty resources. I got up, as it were, and stood erect on naked feet. The future was hard and full. Nevertheless I girded myself and walked towards it. But I firmly believed that whatever might happen to me in the future, this was the unhappiest period of my life.

Truth, being stranger than fiction, is naturally less credible. An honest biographer, if such there be, will always reach a point where he would be happier if he could tone down the crude colours of a real life into the delicate tints of romance and legend! Such was my reflection only the other day when I reread some of the bald account which I have rendered of our antarctic adventures.

I have always been embarrassed for such authors as Fielding and Smollett, to say nothing of the moderns, Miss Austen, for example, who feel that despite all the evidence from the daily life around them, a story to be veridical should have a happy ending—or rather I
was
so
embarrassed
before my own life took a turn into regions of
phantasy
, of “faerie”, of ridiculous happiness!

One day, still sorrowing, I was standing on the veranda of the Residency and wondering what interior power it is which keeps the majority of men from committing
suicide
, when a distant
thump
made me look up. A ship had come in through the heads, and as I saw her I jumped in good earnest, for our saluting gun answered from below the veranda with a bang and an immense cloud of white smoke. She was a warship, then. I went to our telescope and focused it on the stranger.

I believe even then something told me that a fairy story had begun! The ship was flying a signal—her number, I suppose—and other flags which might mean anything. Under her bowsprit there was a complicated glitter. I could make out a crown, a red centre surrounded by blue, and caught my breath as I saw it might well be what a dockyard would make of a crowned kingfisher, a blue bird, a halcyon,
an
Alcyone
! I went quickly to the office and was very nearly hit by the wad from the next explosion of our answer to her salute. Daniels and Roberts were in the office and just abandoning the paper darts with which they had been conducting the affairs of the colony. Markham, coming through the other door, said it was His Majesty’s Frigate
Alcyone
and now we should get some news we could believe instead of rumours from drunken merchant captains. I told myself that the most I could expect was a letter from Miss Chumley to answer the many I had sent to India by any ship going that way. But Sir Henry would have news of her. I remarked that I was acquainted with her captain and would stroll down. I went before anyone had the
opportunity
to offer me company and waited by the telescope until the small group that had gathered there had looked their fill.
Alcyone
was coming in quietly with all but her tops’ls clewed up, as was natural in such a crowded roadstead. But she was a warship and so we were signalling her into the new quay.

My turn came. I saw immediately Sir Henry Somerset on the quarterdeck and all aglitter in his full-dress uniform for a call on the governor. The reader may perhaps guess at the positive convulsion—no, I remember! My heart was all smashed as you might break an egg into a frying pan! What was my confused delight when I found myself gazing at the image of Miss Chumley! She stood by Lady Somerset on the quarterdeck, just
astern
of Sir Henry, who was busily issuing orders. The two ladies had their heads together, watching him, I think, and obediently silent as the ship turned in the channel. Now Sir Henry was examining the Residency with his telescope—we were eye to eye! He turned and said something laughingly to Miss Chumley. Now she was begging him for his telescope—a young officer was offering his own—he was holding it for her—she was making an adjustment—I took off my hat and
waved—Miss Chumley abandoned the telescope and positively flung herself on Lady Helen’s breast! They embraced, Miss Chumley stood away—seemed confused, distraught almost—she ran quickly to the companionway and disappeared! Suddenly I was aware of the unkempt appearance we were accustomed to present in the early morning—better than the positively
farouche
appearance of the generality of men in Sydney Cove but the difference was little—and hurried away to put myself straight. By the time I was shaved and dressed as I ought,
Alcyone
was tied up alongside. I raised my hat to Sir Henry, who was coming up the Residency steps as I went down them, but I believe he never noticed me. He was followed by a
midshipman
who carried a large
portefeuille
. Sir Henry was red in the face and puffing.

By the time I reached the quay,
Alcyone
had established her berth. Her after and forrard gangways were down, with sentries at them and quartermasters. Already she was
taking
in water and supplies. Despite the bustle on the quay, Lady Somerset was standing on it in a space which seemed sacred to her. Miss Chumley was not to be seen. As I approached Lady Somerset I took off my hat, but she instantly begged me to resume it. After India it was quite disconcerting to see a gentleman without his hat. I
stammered
a compliment on her appearance but she would have none of it.

“Mr Talbot, you have no idea the straits to which poor females are reduced in a frigate! But at least we did not suffer as this place appears to from flies—faugh!”

“One does not become accustomed to them. Lady Somerset, I beg you—”

“Now you are going to ask to see poor Marion.”

“Poor Marion? Poor Marion?”

“She cannot abide the sea nor become habituated to it. She will even prefer the flies, I don’t doubt.”

“Lady Somerset—if you only knew how I have longed for this meeting!”

“I am a romantic at heart, Mr Talbot, but the care of a young female has gone some way towards curing me of what I begin to think an aberration. Your letters went far beyond what I proposed for you when I consented to a correspondence. Are you trifling, sir?”

“Lady Somerset!”

“Well, I suppose not. But a—what are you? Fourth secretary? And your godfather is dead, we hear.”

“I fear so. Oh, it was so unfortunate!”

“For you, perhaps. Him too, we must believe. Though as far as the country is concerned—”

“She is coming!”

Indeed she was! Miss Chumley, in the time since we had been eye to eye through telescopes, had changed entirely! Where was the cloak of dull green which had hung from her shoulders? This radiant vision was dressed in white with a scarf of Indian gauze lying across her shoulders, then hanging from both arms. Her gloves buttoned to the elbows. A wide-brimmed straw hat was tied on lightly by another scarf which nestled under her chin. Her face glowed in the shelter of a rosy sunshade. Her other hand held a fan with which she attempted, not with entire success, to keep the flies away. I swept off my hat.

“Mr Talbot—your hair!”

“An accident, ma’am, a trifle.”

“Marion dear, I believe we should invite Mr Talbot to come aboard, but tomorrow perhaps—”

“Oh, Helen! I beg of you! The land is unsteady but wonderful! It appears of such an extent, with trees and houses and things! Oh, Helen, they are English houses!”

“Well. You may stay for a while. I shall send Janet to you. Do not leave the quay. Mr Talbot will look after you.”

“Indeed, ma’am, I ask nothing more than to be allowed—”

“And do not allow any of the natives, the aboriginals I believe they are called, to approach her.”

“Of course not, ma’am.”

“Nor convicts, naturally.”

“No, ma’am. May I advise? We do not use that word here. They are ‘government men’.”

Lady Helen curtsied minutely, turned and went on board again. Miss Chumley and I continued to look at each other. She was smiling delightedly and shaking her head as if in disbelief and then fanning away flies—I suppose I was
grinning
like an idiot or laughing like one—behaving, in fact, very little as a secretary from the Residency should behave within ten yards of a surely amused audience! We spoke but as people in trances. By the magical properties of Mind so little understood, she and I could remember later what neither of us heard consciously at the time.

“Mr Talbot, you are quite, quite bronzed!”

“I apologize for it, Miss Chumley. It is not
permanent
.”

“I fear I am weather-beaten.”

“Oh, ma’am—an English rose! You have been in the rains, a monsoon or something.”

“We have been at sea.”

“Not all the time!”

“I did not know there was so much, Mr Talbot, that is the fact of the matter. One sees maps and globes but it is different!”

“It is indeed different!”

“Most of it you know, sir, is quite unnecessary.”

“Quite, quite unnecessary! Away with it! There shall be no more sea! Let us have a modest strip between one country and another—a kind of canal—”

“The occasional ornamental lake in a prospect—”

“A fountain or two—”

“Oh yes! Fountains are of the utmost importance!”

It was at this moment, I believe, that we both became aware of the absurdity of our words and laughed, or rather giggled, at them. I began to reach out with my arms in a quite spontaneous gesture but I saw valuable Janet appear at the after gangway and dropped them again.

“Miss Chumley, we are both much put upon by the ocean—but surely you reached India?”

“Oh, yes. We were in Madras for a while and then Calcutta. But my cousin—after the death of poor Rosie Aylmer—all that talent, that goodness, her beauty—so tragic and so
frightening
, for she was little older than I am! My cousin thought me too
green
to last out the epidemic. Lady Somerset brought me away again and what must Sir Henry do but fall in with the admiral?”

“Kind fate has brought us together. I have maligned the universe!”

Miss Chumley laughed deliciously and—if I may so express it—more collectedly.

“The universe? Fate? Say rather that the Corsican Tyrant contrived our meeting! Well, it is no wonder, for many people and particularly the French have found it difficult to distinguish between him and Fate.”

“Napoleon!”

“The wretched man has escaped from Elba and landed in France. We are at war again. The news came overland to the admiral in the Red Sea, so that when he met us off Cape Comorin he was able to order us here with
utmost despatch
and what is more, I suppose, we shall leave with the same desperate haste.”

“I cannot endure it! You put me at once in the seventh heaven and in anguish!”

“Poor Mr Talbot! I believe any young person would do whatever—but I should not say such things!”

“Miss Chumley—oh, Miss Chumley—Miss Chumley!”

I became aware that Miss Oates, Lady Somerset’s
valuable Janet
, was standing behind Miss Chumley. I took my hat off and bowed to her, she curtsied and we returned to our conversation but in less passionate tones.

“As you know, Mr Talbot, Lady Somerset has kindly taken me in charge.”

“A precious responsibility that any—”

“There is a kind of agreement between us that I may not answer the question—that is—”

“Oh, Miss Chumley!”

“Young persons are generally thought to be too
ignorant
to be allowed to dispose of themselves in a proper direction and must have an elder to do it for them.”

“I had thought her a devotee of Nature.”

Miss Chumley fanned flies away from her face. Then, in a gesture which moved me inexpressibly, she leaned
forward
and fanned the flies away from mine.

“One should be a Shakespearean heroine, Mr Talbot, and take care always to be at Act Five. I mean the
comedies
, of course.”

“Oh indeed! What have we to do with crookbacks and angry old men with wicked daughters?”

“Nothing, of course. But what was in my mind was that straightforward offering of the hand as if a young person were in fact a young man in disguise—”

“Miss Chumley! Like Juliet you would, I swear, teach the torches to burn bright! The air, the sun however bronzing—colour—forgive these tears—and flies—they are flies—tears, I mean, of joy!”

Impulsively I thrust out my hand. She allowed the fan to fall the length of its string from her wrist and laid her hand in mine, laughing.

“Dear Mr Talbot! You have quite swept me off my feet!”

At length—and how unwillingly!—I released her hand.

“Forgive me, Miss Chumley. I fear my nature is too ardent.”

She flicked the fan back into her hand and busily cleared the flies from before me. In the space cleared momentarily her glowing face came near. Lady Somerset appeared beyond it. Miss Oates was nowhere to be seen. Miss Chumley turned quickly.

“Helen! Where is Janet?”

“She fled below when the sailors began to laugh. You should resume your hat, Mr Talbot.”

“Sailors, ma’am? Laughing?”

“That went near to being
public
, Marion!”

“I am sorry for it, Helen. But as I told Mr Talbot he quite swept me off my feet, and what is a young person—”

“You should go below now.”

“But, Helen—”

“Lady Somerset—”

“You shall see him tomorrow if we are still here—but on a lungeing rein, mind!”

She watched the girl out of sight.

“You have my sympathy, Mr Talbot, but nothing more. Your godfather’s death will delay your rise to fame and fortune, I imagine.”

“I have an allowance sufficient for a young man—too little I agree for any larger establishment. My father—”

“A junior secretary cannot marry even if he has private means. Until I came on deck—Mr Talbot, it was
too
familiar
! Well. You are wholly eligible except in the article of fortune. I am vexed, Mr Talbot, caught between my care of a young female—”

“She is the most beautiful lady in the world!”

“A proper sentiment on your part, sir. She is also all wit, which will outlast beauty and is worth a lot more, though gentlemen can never be brought to think so. The remainder of her character, Mr Talbot, is compounded of
determination and—until this episode I would have said—of common sense!”

“She was—we were—made for each other.”

“In Calcutta she was besieged.”

“I can believe it. Oh, God!”

“I am a romantic after all, it seems. You may see her tomorrow morning.”