“After you, sir.”
“No, First Lieutenant, after you. We cannot have midshipmen given right of way!”
“I insist.”
“Well then—is that Jupiter? Where is the Southern Cross?”
“The Southern Cross will be behind that bank of cloud, I think. In any case it is not necessary to navigation.”
“Not even to Mr Benét and his new method?”
“Do not remind me. It makes me—”
“Makes you what?”
“Never mind.”
“Jealousy does not become you.”
“Jealousy? How can I be jealous of a mountebank? That is not—not friendly of you, Edmund.”
“I am sorry.”
He nodded but was silent, then walked forward to look at the compass. I watched the bank of cloud move away but still could not identify the Southern Cross though Charles had pointed it out to me on other occasions. It is an insignificant constellation when you find it.
Charles came back.
“I am sorry, Edmund, too. I am in the dumps and do not seem able to get out of them.”
“I tell you what, old fellow. You need a course of the strangest medicine! A course of the Prettimans!”
“They are witty no doubt. I have little sense of humour.”
“Oh, you! They would pull you out of the dumps by sheer expansion. Before you knew where you were, you would be discussing things so lofty they make a man forget himself and his petty affairs wholly.”
“That has happened to you?”
“While I was with them. Of course no man—except him—can expect to live at that heat, that height, that intensity!”
“What good is it, then?”
“Try but a single dose!”
“No thank you. We saw the result of that medicine, that concoction at Spithead and the Nore.”
“But he is not like that! There is something about him—something which even I, a political creature compounded of equal quantities of ambition and common sense, while I am there—”
Charles lowered his voice.
“Do you know what you are saying? Do you know where you are? This is folly! You cannot consort with a Jacobin, an atheist—”
“That he is not!”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“You do not sound glad!”
“Oh yes. There is, then, a limit to his infamy.”
“That is not fair!”
“You do not understand. I have passed my life in ships, and shall pass the rest of it in them if I am lucky. This is the first ship I have sailed in which is loaded down with emigrants and passengers.”
“‘Pigs’ you call them.”
“He received their adulation. He was clever and said nothing that could be construed as an invitation to—”
“To what, for God’s sake?”
He muttered.
“I will not use the word.”
“Oh, you exasperate me!”
Charles turned, stumped up the ladder to the poop. I stayed where I was, annoyed and hurt at the sudden division between us. I could see Charles back there on the poop. He was grasping the taffrail with a hand on either side of him and staring back into our wake, above which the declining moon shone with an intermittent light. The log was cast and the man reported to Charles, not to me. There was a brief exchange between them. Then the man came down the ladder, went to the traverse board, lifted the canvas and scrawled in a figure seven. It was a repetition of that snub—another bit of Tarpaulin—which Benét and Anderson had given me.
So there we were, Charles hunched over the taffrail, I now facing in the other direction and leaning over the forrard rail of the quarterdeck. There was plenty to see, what with the roll of the ship, the rising wind, the mass of sails on our three masts, a whole world of ivory light—old ivory. Seven knots to the east! It was impossible to sulk. I went back, climbed to the poop and stood behind Charles. I spoke as lightly as I could.
“Am I dismissed then?”
To my surprise he did not answer either in the same tone or in anger, but bowed his head between his hands and spoke in tones of extraordinary grief.
“No. No.”
“You see he does not talk like that. Why—he was talking, if I understand him aright, of a divine fire up there and down here—”
Charles jerked up his head.
“Here?”
“Well—a metaphor.”
“The plates are still hot. There is fire down below there—”
“No, no, no! You mistake me. You mistake him.”
“I mistake everyone it seems. Benét is preferred. Anderson addresses me as if I were a, a midshipman. Now you put yourself in danger. Do you not understand? I begin to see how strange a place a ship is. Men have been hanged, you know!”
“For Heaven’s sake, Charles! Cheer up! Good God, we are making seven knots to the east, we have sails on all three masts, your frapping keeps us together, all things are well, old fellow!”
“I am confused. I am out of my depth. I believe you to be in danger.”
“Don’t be such an old woman! I am in no danger. I discuss philosophical matters with another gentleman and would never dream of involving the common seamen in such considerations.”
“May I thank you on behalf of us common seamen?”
“Another snub! What is the matter with you? All these pinpricks! Cheer up, man. Look, there is the dawn in the east, there beyond the bows—”
He laughed aloud.
“That from the man who wished to become the perfect master of the sea affair!”
“What do you mean?”
“Dawn at this hour?”
“Why, there—no, it has gone, the clouds have covered it. But I tell you, Charles, we are standing eastwards at seven knots into the light! That should be cheering enough for any seaman, common or not, you sulky fellow!”
“Dawn!”
“There, just a little to starboard—one point on the starboard bow—”
He swung round and stared forward where I pointed.
“You can see it clearly, Charles, what is the matter with you? It is no ghost—look there and there—clearer now!”
He was silent for a moment while the grip of his right hand tightened on my arm.
“Heavens help us all!”
“Why, what is the matter?”
“It is ice!”
(18)
“Bosun’s mate! Pipe all hands! Messenger, call the captain. Edmund, you must stand aside—”
I moved forward and down to the rail of the quarterdeck. The dull and fitful gleam from the ice which had deceived me into thinking I saw the dawn before us had now disappeared again. The blown spray and fog—perhaps begotten of the ice—the rain and low cloud which wove across our bows like the passes which might go with some sea spell clothed everything beyond the bows in thick opacity.
Captain Anderson’s firm step resounded behind me.
“How far was it, Mr Summers?”
“Impossible to say, sir.”
“The extent then?”
“Mr Talbot saw it first.”
“Mr Talbot, what was the extent of the ice?”
“I saw no end to it, sir, in either direction. I saw ice broad on the larboard bow—at about that angle and ever broader to starboard. It seemed continuous.”
“Was it low on the water?”
“No, sir. I think it was a continuous cliff.”
My very feet were itching for the captain to order us away from our headlong eastward progress!
“You identified ice on a broader angle to starboard than to larboard?”
“Yes, sir. That may have been the—luck of the fog.”
“Mr Summers, was there no call from the forrard lookout?”
“No, sir.”
“Have the man arrested.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
It was unbearably near the tip of my tongue to shout “Alter course, for God’s sake!” But Captain Anderson issued his or
ders in a calm voice as measured as his tread.
“Mr Summers. Bring her round on a broad reach to the larboard.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
I returned to the rail and held on to it as in an unconscious attempt to halt our violent approach. I even twisted that rail or tried to twist it as if it had been a wheel and I by myself able to turn the ship from her headlong course.
The pipes were shrilling along the deck, the order repeated again and again.
“All hands on deck! D’you hear there? All hands on deck!”
Someone was ringing the ship’s bell, not striking out the requisite number for the passage of time and change of the watch but urgently, incessantly. The men came swarming out like bees at an unwonted season from some ill-judged or accidental blow on the skep. They swarm and fumble and tumble over each other on the step and rise in bands to confront the imagined danger. So men leapt into the rigging, some disdaining the ladders set for them—one I saw going hand over hand (his rigid legs held out at an angle) up some vertical rope until the main course hid him. Men were crowding the fo’castle, racing along the waist, sliding to a stop by every sheet and stay. Some came even to the quarterdeck. Few were tarpaulin’d even in that weather. Some were half naked or entirely naked just as they had tumbled out of their hammocks. Now among them and behind them appeared the emigrants, and below me in the waist, the passengers crowding out. Mr Brocklebank was shouting up at me but I could not summon the interest to listen to him. Captain Anderson was now staring into the binnacle. Throughout the ship larboard sheets were shrilling in the blocks and the starboard sheets groaning home.
“Mr Summers.”
“Sir.”
“Set every sail there is room for.”
“The foremast, sir!”
“You heard me, Mr Summers. Every inch of canvas!”
Charles turned and began shouting down into the waist. I do not think seamen have ever moved more quickly. Indeed, they obeyed the captain’s order rather than the first lieutenant’s, for by the time he had begun shouting through his speaking trumpet the men were swarming up the shrouds as if the word “ice” had been instantly audible through every timber of our careering vessel! More sails billowed from the yards and took the wind with a gun’s report. Now Charles was hurrying forward. I saw him gesticulating the emigrants out of his way. There were women among them—Mrs East wrapped over her trailing dress with an inadequate shawl she had snatched up in the general panic. The ice remained hidden. It had been the orange moonset in the west which had given us—given me—that deceiving vision of ice to the east through the fitfully opened passages in the smother. Now any passage was more often shut than open.
Anderson spoke again.
“Bring her round another point to larboard.”
There were more pipes, orders sung out at each mast and repeated up among the glimmering mass of sails. The wheel was spun to starboard, the sheets screamed home! There was a confused shouting of “Light to!” and “Roundly now!” and “Check away!” and “Two blocks on the preventer!” Perhaps I have more than mixed what was mixed already, for I did nothing but will the ship round away from that ghastly cliff. She leaned hugely to starboard, the wind roared over the larboard beam and a mêlée of emigrants with a deal of seawater went cascading into the waist! Our speed increased. Here and there among the sails at their outer edges, the white stuns’ls, those fair-weather sails, began to appear. To wear them spread in this weather was desperate, like our situation, but the captain’s order had been specific and peremptory.
He repeated it with his familiar roar.
“Every stitch of canvas there is room for!”
Once more, as in the days of the terrible storm, our masts were bending, but to starboard this time, and more than before, not because we had a storm wind but because we had set a monstrous deal of sail even on those makeshift topmasts! The spray which had deluged us from astern now flew across the ship along the whole length of the larboard side. The billows which had pursued us now struck along that same length. Each wave seemed to heave us bodily sideways towards the direction in which we did not wish to go.
Charles came, climbing hastily up from the waist.
“I caught a glimpse, sir. It seems like no ordinary berg. It lies squarely north and south and there seems no end to it. The cliff which Mr Talbot saw must be somewhere between a hundred and two hundred feet high.”
As if to illustrate his words the clouds or fog parted along the starboard beam and bow and the ice glimmered little more than the sails in some strange light which, now the moon had set, seemed to have no source which was identifiable. Foam whiter than the ice climbed the cliff. Then, as we watched, the fog closed yellowly again. Captain Anderson leaned on the forrard rail of the quarterdeck and peered low as if he might be able to see under the smother. Neither he nor Charles, straightening up in defeat, remarked on what was obvious to us all—if we touched the hidden cliff, no man nor woman nor child would live to see daylight. I saw the danger, understood it in every particular and now began to feel it! The chill on my skin below my oilskins and warm clothing was not that of the Antarctic. But all at once the chill itself turned to a definite and perspiring heat, for a sudden and temporary parting of the fog on our starboard bow showed us that not only was the cliff nearer but it rubbed in the point with an appalling act of Nature, which, performed indifferently as it may have been, seemed a theatrical act made for the duration of our glimpse.
“Look!”
Was it I who cried out? It must have been. Before our eyes the face of that part of the cliff which had been revealed fell off, collapsed into a climbing billow. Two huge pieces which must have fallen just before we were permitted to see the action sprang upwards like leaping salmon! They were, I swear, ship-size fragments and falling again as the fog swept all from our sight.
How can a man react who has no service to offer, no counsel to give when he sees such monstrosities and knows that presently, unless there is a miracle, he will be smashed to pieces among them? That more than Antarctic chill became a settled rigor which sealed me in my place by the rail of the quarterdeck, careless of wind or spray or green water or anything but our peril. This was a horror of that neutral and indifferent but overwhelming power with which our own ridiculous wood and canvas had nothing to do. We might end as a child’s toy, washed up, smashed—
No. The fact has to be experienced. Then, while the rigor still held me, I saw a wave coming at our starboard beam, but out of the fog, a contrary wave from where the unspeakable blocks of ice had fallen. It struck the side and washed clean over us. The bows came up into the wind, the sails thundered, then thumped open like a broadside as the men fought her at the wheel. She danced, losing headway among the contrary waters—
Was my voice among the others? I suppose so. I hope not but I shall never know. Certainly there were voices, shrieks of women and the anguished yelling of men, not merely emigrants and passengers but seamen, cries from aloft, wailing as though we were already lost. The waist below me was a pool of seawater not yet escaped through the scuppers. The black lifelines danced above it and black figures clung and bobbed as the water began to drain away.
Now, below me, a familiar figure in good oilskins waded into the waist! It was Mr Jones, our intelligent self-centred and honest purser. He was wading forward towards his boat on the boom. In his arms, cradled like a baby, he carried Lord Talbot’s firkin, that mass of keepsakes and last wishes, last messages which he had sworn to preserve, not knowing that the whole ship had seen it as a joke! He waded forward and the mainmast hid him. The sight made me burst into hysterical laughter.
Charles who had gone somewhere to do something came racing back, splashing through the last inches of the green sea we had shipped. Captain Anderson spoke to him with a new urgency.
“Mr Summers. We must come up more into the wind.”
“The foremast, sir!”
The captain roared:
“Mr Summers!”
Charles shouted back in his face.
“I wish to represent that the mast will take no more strain. If that goes—”
“Are you able to propose a better course of action? We are being moved towards the ice.”
There was a long pause. Then Anderson spoke irritably.
“Are you still attempting to discredit Mr Benét’s achievement?”
Charles stood stiffly and answered stiffly.
“No, sir.”
“Carry out my orders.”
Charles departed. There was more shrilling of pipes and shouting. The leeward sheets were tautened. The sails lost the roundness of canvas bellied by a wind on the beam and flattened. Wrinkles like splayed fingers stretched from every sheet. The sails drummed with tension. Young Mr Tommy Taylor came leaping up to the quarterdeck from below. He took off his hat ceremoniously to the captain.
“Well?”
“The carpenter, sir, Mr Gibbs, sir. He says she is taking much water. The pumping is continuous. The water is gaining.”
“Very good.”
The boy saluted again and turned away. The captain spoke again.
“Mr Taylor.”
“Sir?”
“What the devil is that fool doing sitting in his boat on the boom?”
I spoke up, for the boy was plainly at a loss.
“It is Mr Jones, the purser, Captain. He is waiting in his own boat for a picked body of seamen to rescue him while the rest of us drown.”
“The damned fool!”
“I agree, Captain.”