To the Ends of the Earth

  “Stand! Who goes there?”

  “What the devil?”

  “Gawd, it’s the Lord Talbot, Mr Talbot, I mean, sir. What are you doing, sir? You nigh on got a baggynet in the guts, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”

  “I’m making my way forrard—”

  There came a thunderous banging from ahead of us. I had to shout.

  “I’m going forrard!”

  The corporal had to shout back.

  “Orders, sir. Sorry, sir!”

  The banging ceased for a moment or two.

  “Look—the first lieutenant must be forrard there. You ask him!”

  The petty officer seemed doubtful but the corporal with him had a little more sense and sent one of his two men to tell Charles that I had appeared. He came back with word that I was to wait, at which I was not a little crestfallen but leaned against a convenient support—I do not know what it was—and waited, looking as nonchalant as possible. Casually, I blew out my lamp. The little party ventured no comment.

  Forward of us there was light and noise. Some of the light was daylight, as if hatches and skylights had been opened in view of the importance of the operation. Some of the light was smoky and flared redly now and then. I even saw a spark or two float across what I was able to see of the open space where the work was going on. The work became a steady beating with a hammer on iron as if the ship was being shod. What with the smoky light and the metal noises I was overcome with a sudden return to the world of stables and harness and horses and the heat of a smithy fire! But it passed quickly, for the work took on another sound—a dull thumping as of a maul on wood. Peering into the light, and foolishly holding up my extinguished lantern—it is impossible not to hold a lantern up when you look, if you are carrying one—I could now see some of the structures which had been erected to stop the mast from moving. Those huge ropes which led so stiffly from the mast to eyebolts in the side of the hold were staying it. The baulks of timber which spread out at an angle on either side were wedging it. As I watched, the dull thumping stopped suddenly, there was a shout and one of the baulks fell, with a thunderous reverberation. It frightened me and it frightened everyone who heard it, for there rose a sudden clamour round the mast, but it was simply overborne by the captain’s famous “roar” which, to tell the truth, I was very glad to hear, for it suggested safety and awareness of what should be done. Presently—with a brighter flaring and more banging on iron then wood—a second baulk came down but was received this time on a soft bed, for it did no more than thump. After that I waited for a long time while the smoky light brightened, then dimmed, then was extinguished.

  There came the groan and scream of metal on metal. This scream was repeated again and again. Then silence. The light was beginning to die down.

  Bang! It was metal contracting, I think. It was followed by the shriek of metal again and then another bang!

  There was a sudden clamour which was interrupted by another “roar” from the captain. He was there—I could see him, see his tricorned head! He was down at the foot, the shoe, the heel, tenon, or whatever it was, and once more as the last baulk fell his roar overbore the sound of it.

  “Still!”

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang!

  Silence.

  The captain spoke in his normal voice.

  “Carry on. Yes, Mr Benét, carry on.”

  Benét’s voice.

  “What do you think, Coombs?”

  “Lat’un boide a whoile, zur.”

  Silence again. The wail of contracting metal and a vast grinding and creaking from the mast.

  Benét’s voice.

  “Water. Roundly now!”

  A fierce and continuous hissing! Steam was rising in the open space.

  There was another pause, seeming interminable as the steam rose and cleared. The mast creaked and groaned.

  “All right, lads. Carry on.”

  One after another the dark shapes of men climbed the ladders. The captain’s voice could now be heard. It was loud and meant to be heard by all.

  “Well, Mr Benét, you may congratulate yourself. I believe you was the originator here. You too, Coombs.”

  “Thankee, zur.”

  “I shall enter your names in the log.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Mr Summers. Come with me.”

  I saw their dark shapes ascend the ladder just forward of the foremast. A seaman came peering for me.

  “Mr Benét says you may come forrard now, sir.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?”

  I made my way towards the mast, then looked about me. Benét was there. Even in that light I saw he bore such an expression of rapturous triumph as I never had seen on the face of any other human being. I gazed about me with profound curiosity. Evidently the operation had been successful. I could only examine and try to understand the method of it. The huge cylinder of the foremast came down through the deckhead and appeared to enter a square block of wood. Since the mast was a yard in diameter, the size of the wooden block into which it was set may possibly be imagined. I suppose it was something like a six-foot cube. What a tree! I had never seen such a block of wood in my life. This in its turn rested on a member which ran the ship’s length above the keel—the keelson. Facing me on the after side of the shoe was a sheet of iron with huge bolts projecting. These then were the bolts of iron which had been made red- or white-hot in the midst of all this tinderlike wood at the risk of turning the whole ship into a bonfire! On the top surface of the wood the wide crack made by the leverage of the mast was no longer to be seen. It had, if anything, more than closed! Good God, the mere force of cooling iron had crushed the vast block of wood so that the surface had risen everywhere into parallel wrinkles! It was awesome. The words were jerked out of me.

  “Good God! Good God!”

  The expression on Mr Benét’s face had not changed. He was staring at the iron. Only his lips moved.

  Thy face is veiled, thou mighty form,

  The dry the chill the moist the warm,

  All modes—all modes—

  His voice died away. He appeared to see me at last and I do not think there had been any pretence about his abstraction. His face became that of a social man.

  “Well, Mr Talbot. Do you understand what you see?”

  “I suppose there is another plate like this one on the other side of the block—the shoe.”

  “And the bolts go through both.”

  “The wood must be on fire within!”

  He waved a hand dismissively.

  “For a little while, no more.”

  “Do you mean to burn us all before any of our other dangers finish us? Or do you propose that this one should be held in reserve in case our other perils are successfully surmounted?”

  He was kind enough to laugh a little.

  “Be easy, Mr Talbot. Captain Anderson was under the same misapprehension, but by means of a model Coombs and I were able to convince him. The channels are much larger than the bolts. Air cannot enter. When the air is depleted of its oxygen—its vital air, sir—it will start to cool and there will be no more than a layer of charcoal inside the channels. But do you see the degree of force we have at our disposal?”

  “It is frightening.”

  “There is nothing to be afraid of. I have seldom seen anything so majestically beautiful. The mast was moved upright in a matter of minutes!”

  “So we may now use the mast. And the mizzen. Our speed will increase. We shall get there sooner.”

  He was smiling kindly.

  “It is beginning to penetrate.”

  A testy reply was on the tip of my tongue, for I began to resent his condescension, but at that very moment there came a sharp report from inside the iron or wood which made me flinch.

  “What was that?”

  “Something taking up. It does not matter.”

  “Was to be expected, in fact!”

  My sarcasm missed its mark. r />
  “The sound was the expenditure of moderate force. Thy face is veiled, thou mighty form—”

  It was evident that Mr Benét was no longer disposed for conversation. Idly I laid my hand on the iron plate and snatched it away at once.

  “The thing must still be on fire inside!”

  “No, no. There is ample area. My first line is a tetrameter. How the devil did I come to think it was an iambic pentameter? We are lacking a foot! Nature, thy face is veiled, thou mighty Form! I shall have trouble with the rhyme now, because having personified Nature and mentioned ‘Form’ the whole thing becomes Platonic, which I did not desire.”

  “Mr Benét, I realize you are in the throes of seamanship, engineering and poetry but should be glad if you would kindly continue our previous conversation. I know that one should not pry into a gentleman’s private affairs, but with regard to your time in Alcyone when you were acquainted with Miss Chumley—”

  But the strange man was rapt again.

  “Warm, swarm, corm. They would be an ear-rhyme. Or balm, calm, palm—cockney rhymes unendurably vulgar. The dry the chill the moist the warm—why not the moist the dry the warm the chill—”

  It was no use. The ironwork banged again, to be echoed dully from above. I set myself to climb the ladders into modified daylight, then out onto the deck where the sun was now completely obscured by clouds and the sea more than ruffled. The forrard part of the waist was crowded. Oldmeadow’s soldiers were grouped there by the rail on the larboard side. They had their Brown Besses. Oldmeadow threw an empty bottle as far as he could into the water, whereupon a fellow loosed off with a prodigious production of smoke and noise and made a small fountain of seawater. This drew shrieks of fear and admiration from the young women who were in attendance while the bottle floated very slowly away. So we were moving! I stared upward and saw that the sails on the mainmast were rounded. Fellows were swaying a yard up the foremast. Oldmeadow threw another bottle, there was another explosion and fountain of water as the second bottle followed the other one. I suggested to Oldmeadow then and there that he should attach a string to the bottle and thus be able to make do with the one but he ignored me. Companionship with the common and ignorant soldiery was doing his wits and his manners no good whatever. There were no passengers about. They had evidently decided that the best way to spend that upright and untroubled period was asleep in their bunks.

  A little wind breathed on my cheek. I went back to the lobby and looked into the saloon. There was no one at either table—not even little Pike.

  “Bates! Where is the first lieutenant usually at this time of day?”

  “Couldn’t say, sir. He might have got his head down, sir.”

  I went down to the wardroom.

  “Webber. Where is Mr Summers?”

  Webber nodded to Charles’s cabin and spoke in a whisper.

  “In there, sir.”

  I hurried to the cabin and knocked.

  “Charles! It is I!”

  There was no reply. But what is a friend? I knocked again, then opened the door. Charles was sitting on the edge of his bunk. His hands on either side grasped the wooden edge. He was staring at or through the opposite bulkhead. His eyes did not blink or turn towards me. His face under the tan of exposure was sallow and drawn.

  “Good God! For Heaven’s sake! What has happened?”

  Now his head did turn, jerkily.

  “Charles old fellow!”

  His lips quivered. I sat by him quickly and set my hand down on the back of his. A drop of sweat rolled off his brow and fell on my fingers.

  “It is I—Edmund!”

  His other hand came up and he smeared it across his face, then put it down again.

  “Tell me, for God’s sake! Are you hurt?”

  Still nothing.

  “Look, Charles, the news is good! They are setting sails on all three masts!”

  Now he spoke.

  “Obstruction.”

  “What obstruction?”

  “Obstruction. That’s what he said. I am to cease my obstruction.”

  “Anderson!”

  He shook as if with cold. I took my hand from him.

  He muttered.

  “I can feel her moving. He was lucky, wasn’t he? A flat calm for the work and now—the wind again. An extra two knots, Anderson said. He gave me reasons. Coldly.”

  “What reasons?”

  “For his words. Obstruction. I am—I did not know it was possible to be so brought down. The dragrope—but it tore away part of the keel. Who knows? And now—for a knot and a half, for two knots, Benét has stuck red-hot irons through wood and left them there!”

  “He says they will no more than coat the inside of the channels with charcoal.”

  He stared into my eyes.

  “You saw the man? You spoke with him?”

  “I have—”

  “I must not obstruct him, do you understand? A brilliant young officer—and I! Dull, superannuated—”

  “He could not say so!”

  “In defence of his favourite he would say anything! He will take no action yet but I am to watch my step—” He paused for a moment, then hissed with a fury of which I should never have thought him capable—“Watch my step!”

  “I swear to you he shall be brought down! I will—I will raise the whole government of the colony against him! I will—”

  He drew his breath in sharply, then whispered:

  “Hold your tongue. It is mutiny.”

  “It is justice!”

  There was a pause. He put his face in his hands. I could hardly hear what he said for the grief in the sound of it.

  “I do not desire justice.”

  For a while neither of us said anything. Then—

  “Charles—I know I am a passenger—but this monstrous—”

  He laughed, bitterly.

  “Oh yes, you are a passenger, but you may still put yourself in peril! And if it were possible to do what you have just said, do you suppose I should ever be employed again, let alone promoted?”

  “Benét is a kind of meteor, a passing flash. Meteors always fall.”

  Charles sat up and hugged himself with both arms.

  “Do you feel how she moves even in this light air? He will nigh on double our speed. And, mark my words, every knot he adds will double the intake of water!”

  “He is writing an Ode to Nature.”

  “Is he so? Well, tell him Nature never gives something for nothing.”

  “I will tell him, though the statement will come oddly from me. I believe he would recognize the source.”

  A trace of colour had come into Charles’s lips.

  “Bless you, old fellow—may I still say that?”

  “Heavens! Whatever you like.”

  “You are a true friend. It is like you to come looking for me with what comfort you could when no one else—Well. Forgive me. I have been less than a man.”

  “You are worth a hundred Benéts—two hundred Andersons!”

  “Is that my lantern?”

  The question disconcerted me. I followed his eyes, lifted my right hand with the lantern in it.

  “No. In fact—”

  I did not feel like going on. After a moment or two Charles shrugged.

  “Dockyard issue. Well, what does it matter?”

  Suddenly he struck one fist into the other palm.

  “It was such a humbling, such a shaming rebuke! It was so unjust—for all I did was differ in opinion from my subordinate!”

  “Did anyone hear him?”

  He shook his head.

  “He observed the forms. I am helpless therefore, you see. When we reached the quarterdeck he addressed me formally. ‘Oblige me by stepping into my cabin, Mr Summers.’ There he faced me. He lowered up at me under his thick eyebrows and projected his jaw at me—”

  “I know! I have seen!”

  “‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but hard words won’t hurt me.’ A rhyme for children. What he sai
d tore at me like hooks.”

  “You are better for talking about it. It has been searing for you, I can tell that. But I have sworn to see right done, justice—fair play! You remember?”

  “Oh yes! A long way back, in Colley’s time.”

  “Now what is to be done at the moment? I believe you are able to smile!”

  “Did you feel that? The wind is increasing. Well, the captain and the officer of the watch—let them manage between them. Only think, Edmund, if this wind had come a couple of hours earlier—I can hardly believe in my own iniquity! I found myself wishing—no, no. The mast is repaired, our speed is increased and I am glad of it!”

  “We must all be glad.”

  “But I tell you, Edmund, with that fire in the shoe—I will have a watch kept there as long as there is a trace of heat left in the iron. Other than that, there is nothing to be done. I must swallow everything and live out the commission—why are we such creatures that a few sentences from an angry man should matter more to me than the prospect of death?”

  “At all costs no one must know—”

  “What—in this ship? I have never been in one that so echoed and resounded with rumour!”

  “The thing must be forgotten.”

  “The voyage will surely be remembered, for it bids fair to be the longest in history.”

  “Well, you, at any rate, must not go down as anything but the lieutenant who by and by was Captain Summers and, after that, a famous rear admiral!”