The Ghost Ship

  A Drama Of Youth

  I

  For some days school had seemed to me even more tedious than usual.The long train journey in the morning, the walk through FarringdonMeat Market, which aesthetic butchers made hideous with mosaics of theintestines of animals, as if the horror of suety pavements and bloodysawdust did not suffice, the weariness of inventing lies that no onebelieved to account for my lateness and neglected homework, and themonotonous lessons that held me from my dreams without ever for asingle instant capturing my interest--all these things made me illwith repulsion. Worst of all was the society of my cheerful,contented comrades, to avoid which I was compelled to mope indeserted corridors, the prey of a sorrow that could not be enjoyed, ahatred that was in no way stimulating. At the best of times theatmosphere of the place disgusted me. Desks, windows, and floors, andeven the grass in the quadrangle, were greasy with London soot, andthere was nowhere any clean air to breathe or smell. I hated thegritty asphalt that gave no peace to my feet and cut my knees when myclumsiness made me fall. I hated the long stone corridors whoseechoes seemed to me to mock my hesitating footsteps when I passedfrom one dull class to another. I hated the stuffy malodorousclassrooms, with their whistling gas-jets and noise of inharmoniouslife. I would have hated the yellow fogs had they not sometimesshortened the hours of my bondage. That five hundred boys shared thishorrible environment with me did not abate my sufferings a jot; forit was clear that they did not find it distasteful, and theytherefore became as unsympathetic for me as the smell and noise androtting stones of the school itself.

  The masters moved as it were in another world, and, as the classeswere large, they understood me as little as I understood them. Theyknew that I was idle and untruthful, and they could not know that Iwas as full of nerves as a girl, and that the mere task of getting toschool every morning made me physically sick. They punished merepeatedly and in vain, for I found every hour I passed within thewalls of the school an overwhelming punishment in itself, and nothingI made any difference to me. I lied to them because they expected it,and because I had no words in which to express the truth if I knewit, which is doubtful. For some reason I could not tell them at homewhy I got on so badly at school, or no doubt they would have taken meaway and sent me to a country school, as they did afterwards. Nearlyall the real sorrows of childhood are due to this dumbness of theemotions; we teach children to convey facts by means of words, but wedo not teach them how to make their feelings intelligible.Unfortunately, perhaps, I was very happy at night with my story-booksand my dreams, so that the real misery of my days escaped theattention of the grown-up people. Of course I never even thought ofdoing my homework, and the labour of inventing new lies every day toaccount for my negligence became so wearisome that once or twice Itold the truth and simply said I had not done it; but the mastersheld that this frankness aggravated the offence, and I had to take upanew my tiresome tale of improbable calamities. Sometimes my storieswere so wild that the whole class would laugh, and I would have tolaugh myself; yet on the strength of this elaborate politeness toauthority I came to believe myself that I was untruthful by nature.

  The boys disliked me because I was not sociable, but after a timethey grew tired of bullying me and left me alone. I detested thembecause they were all so much alike that their numbers filled me withhorror. I remember that the first day I went to school I walked roundand round the quadrangle in the luncheon-hour, and every boy whopassed stopped me and asked me my name and what my father was. When Isaid he was an engineer every one of the boys replied, "Oh! the manwho drives the engine." The reiteration of this childish joke made mehate them from the first, and afterwards I discovered that they wereequally unimaginative in everything they did. Sometimes I would standin the midst of them, and wonder what was the matter with me that Ishould be so different from all the rest. When they teased me,repeating the same questions over and over again, I cried easily,like a girl, without quite knowing why, for their stupidities couldnot hurt my reason; but when they bullied me I did not cry, becausethe pain made me forget the sadness of my heart. Perhaps it wasbecause of this that they thought I was a little mad.

  Grey day followed grey day, and I might in time have abandonedall efforts to be faithful to my dreams, and achieved a kind ofbeast-like submission that was all the authorities expected ofnotorious dunces. I might have taught my senses to accept theevil conditions of life in that unclean place; I might even havesucceeded in making myself one with the army of shadows thatthronged in the quadrangle and filled the air with meaninglessnoise.

  But one evening when I reached home I saw by the faces of thegrown-up people that something had upset their elaborateprecautions for an ordered life, and I discovered that my brother,who had stayed at home with a cold, was ill in bed with themeasles. For a while the significance of the news escaped me;then, with a sudden movement of my heart, which made me feel ill,I realised that probably I would have to stay away from schoolbecause of the infection. My feet tapped on the floor with joy,though I tried to appear unconcerned. Then, as I nursed my suddenhope of freedom, a little fearfully lest it should prove anillusion, a new and enchanting idea came to me. I slipped from theroom, ran upstairs to my bedroom and, standing by the side of mybed, tore open my waistcoat and shirt with clumsy, tremblingfingers. One, two, three, four, five! I counted the spots in atriumphant voice, and then with a sudden revulsion sat down on thebed to give the world an opportunity to settle back in its place.I had the measles, and therefore I should not have to go back toschool! I shut my eyes for a minute and opened them again, butstill I had the measles. The cup of happiness was at my lips, butI sipped delicately because it was full to the brim, and I wouldnot spill a drop.

  This mood did not last long. I had to run down the house and tellthe world the good news. The grown-up people rebuked my joyousness,while admitting that it might be as well that I should have themeasles then as later on. In spite of their air of resignation Icould hardly sit still for excitement. I wanted to go into thekitchen and show my measles to the servants, but I was told to staywhere I was in front of the fire while my bed was moved into mybrother's room. So I stared at the glowing coals till my eyessmarted, and dreamed long dreams. I would be in bed for days, allwarm from head to foot, and no one would interrupt my pleasantexcursions in the world I preferred to this. If I had heard of thebeneficent microbe to which lowed my happiness, I would havementioned it in my prayers.

  Late that night, I called over to my brother to ask how long measleslasted. He told me to go to sleep, so that I knew he did not know theanswer to my question. I lay at ease tranquilly turning the problemover in my mind. Four weeks, six weeks, eight weeks; why, if I waslucky, it would carry me through to the holidays! At all events,school was already very far away, like a nightmare remembered atnoon. I said good-night to my brother, and received an irritatedgrunt in reply. I did not mind his surliness; tomorrow when I wokeup, I would begin my dreams.

  II

  When I found myself in bed in the morning, already sick at heartbecause even while I slept I could not forget the long torment of mylife at school, I would lie still for a minute or two and try toconcentrate my shuddering mind on something pleasant, some littledetail of the moment that seemed to justify hope. Perhaps I had somemoney to spend or a holiday to look forward to; though often enough Iwould find nothing to save me from realising with childish intensitythe greyness of the world in which it was my fate to move. I did notwant to go out into life; it was dull and gruel and greasy with soot.I only wanted to stop at home in any little quiet corner out ofeverybody's way and think my long, heroic thoughts. But even while Imumbled my hasty breakfast and ran to the station to catch my trainthe atmosphere of the school was all about me, and my dreamer'scourage trembled and vanished.

  When I woke from sleep the morning after my good fortune, I did notat first realise the extent of my happiness; I only knew that deep inmy heart I was conscious of some great cause for joy. Then
my eyes,still dim with sleep, discovered that I was in my brother's bedroom,and in a flash the joyful truth was revealed to me. I sat up andhastily examined my body to make sure that the rash had notdisappeared, and then my spirit sang a song of thanksgiving of whichthe refrain was, "I have the measles!" I lay back in bed and enjoyedthe exquisite luxury of thinking of the evils that I had escaped. Foronce my morbid sense of atmosphere was a desirable possession andhelpful to my happiness. It was delightful to pull the bedclothesover my shoulders and conceive the feelings of a small boy who shouldride to town in a jolting train, walk through a hundred kinds of dirtand a hundred disgusting smells to win to prison at last, where heshould perform meaningless tasks in the distressing society of fivehundred mocking apes. It was pleasant to see the morning sun and feelno sickness in my stomach, no sense of depression in my tired brain.Across the room my brother gurgled and choked in his sleep, and insome subtle way contributed to my ecstasy of tranquillity. I was nolonger concerned for the duration of my happiness. I felt that thispeace that I had desired so long must surely last for ever.

  To the grown-up folk who came to see us during the day--thedoctor, certain germ-proof unmarried aunts, truculently maternal,and the family itself--my brother's case was far more interestingthan mine because he had caught the measles really badly. I justhad them comfortably; enough to be infectious, but not enough tofeel ill, so I was left in pleasant solitude while the womencompeted for the honour of smoothing my brother's pillow andtiptoeing in a fidgeting manner round his bed. I lay on my backand looked with placid interest at the cracks in the ceiling. Theywere like the main roads in a map, and I amused myself by buildinglittle houses beside them--houses full of books and warmhearthrugs, and with a nice pond lively with tadpoles in thegarden of each. From the windows of the houses you could watch allthe traffic that went along the road, men and women and horses,and best of all, the boys going to school in the morning--boys whohad not done their homework and who would be late for prayers.When I talked about the cracks to my brother he said that perhapsthe ceiling would give way and fall on our heads. I thought aboutthis too, and found it quite easy to picture myself lying in thebed with a smashed head, and blood all over the pillow. Then itoccurred to me that the plaster might smash me all over, and myimpressions of Farringdon Meat Market added a gruesome vividnessto my conception of the consequences. I always found it pleasantto imagine horrible things; it was only the reality that made mesick.

  Towards nightfall I became a little feverish, and I heard thegrown-ups say that they would give me some medicine later on.Medicine for me signified the nauseous powders of Dr. Gregory,so I pretended to be asleep every time anyone came into theroom, in order to escape my destiny, until at last some onestood by my bedside so long that I became cramped and had topretend to wake up. Then I was given the medicine, and found tomy surprise that it was delicious and tasted of oranges. I feltthat there had been a mistake somewhere, but my head sat alittle heavily on my shoulders, and I would not trouble to fixthe responsibility. This time I fell asleep in earnest, and wokein the middle of the night to find my brother standing by mybed, making noises with his mouth. I thought that he had gonemad, and would kill me perhaps, but after a time he went back tobed saying all the bad words he knew. The excitement had made mewide awake, and I tossed about thinking of the cracked ceilingabove my head. The room was quite dark, and I could see nothing,so that it might be bulging over me without my knowing it. Istood up in bed and stretched up my arm, but I could not reachthe ceiling; yet when I lay down again I felt as though it hadsunk so far, that it was touching my hair, and I found itdifficult to breathe in such a small space. I was afraid to movefor fear of bringing it down upon me, and in a short while thepressure upon my body became unbearable, and I shrieked out forhelp. Some one came in and lit the gas, and found me lookingvery foolish and my brother delirious. I fell asleep almostimmediately, but was conscious through my dreams that the gaswas still alight and that they were watching by my brother'sbedside.

  In the morning he was very ill and I was no longer feverish, so itwas decided to move me back into my own bedroom. I was wrapped up inthe bedclothes and told to sit still while the bed was moved. I satin an armchair, feeling like a bundle of old clothes, and looking atthe cracks in the ceiling which seemed to me like roads. I knew thatI had already lost all importance as an invalid, but I was veryhappy nevertheless. For from the window of one of my little houses Iwas watching the boys going to school, and my heart was warm withthe knowledge of my own emancipation. As my legs hung down from thechair I found it hard to keep my slippers on my stockingless feet.

  III

  There followed for me a period of deep and unbrokensatisfaction. I was soon considered well enough to get up, and Ilived pleasantly between the sofa and the fireside waiting on mybrother's convalescence, for it had been settled that I shouldgo away with him to the country for a change of air. I readDickens and Dumas in English, and made up long stories in whichI myself played important but not always heroic parts. By meansof intellectual exercises of this kind I achieved a tranquillitylike that of an old man, fearing nothing, desiring nothing,regretting nothing. I no longer reckoned the days or the hours,I content to enjoy a passionless condition of being that askedno questions and sought none of me, nor did I trouble to numbermy journeys in the world of infinite shadows. But in that longhour of peace I realised that in some inexplicable way I wasinterested in the body of a little boy, whose hands obeyed myunspoken wishes, whose legs sprawled before me on the sofa. Iknew that before I met him, this boy, whose littleness surprisedme, had suffered ill dreams in a nameless world, and now, wornout with tears and humiliation and dread of life, he slept, andwhile he slept I watched him dispassionately, as I would havelooked at a crippled daddy-long-legs. To have felt compassionfor him would have disturbed the tranquillity that was anecessary condition of my existence, so I contented myself withnoticing his presence and giving him a small part in the pageantof my dreams. He was not so beautiful as I wished all mycomrades to be, and he was besides very small; but shadows areamiable play-friends, and they did not blame him because hecried when he was teased and did not cry when he was beaten, orbecause the wild unreason of his sorrow made him find cause fortears in the very fullness of his rare enjoyment. For the firsttime in my life it seems to me I saw this little boy as he was,squat-bodied, big-headed, thick-lipped, and with a face sweptclean of all emotions save where his two great eyes glowed witha sulky fire under exaggerated eyebrows. I noticed his grimynails, his soiled collar, his unbrushed clothes, the patentsigns of defeat changing to utter rout, and from the heights ofmy great peace I was not sorry for him. He was like that, otherboys were different, that was all.

  And then on a day fear returned to my heart, and my newly discoveredUtopia was no more. I do not know what chance word of the grown-uppeople or what random thought of mine did the mischief; but of asudden I realised that for all my dreaming I was only separated by ameasurable number of days from the horror of school. Already I wassick with fear, and in place of my dreams I distressed myself byvisualising the scenes of the life I dreaded--the Meat Market, thedusty shadows of the gymnasium, the sombre reticence of the greathall. All that my lost tranquillity had given me was a keener senseof my own being; my smallness, my ugliness, my helplessness in theface of the great cruel world. Before I had sometimes been able todull my emotions in unpleasant circumstances and thus achieve adogged calm; now I was horribly conscious of my physical sensations,and, above all, of that deadly sinking in my stomach called fear. Iclenched my hands, telling myself that I was happy, and trying toforce my mind to pleasant thoughts; but though my head swam with theeffort, I continued to be conscious that I was afraid. In the midstof my mental struggles I discovered that even if I succeeded inthinking happy things I should still have to go back to school afterall, and the knowledge that thought could not avert calamity waslike a bruise on my mind. I pinched my arms and legs, with the ideathat immediate pain would make me fo
rget my fears for the future;but I was not brave enough to pinch them really hard, and I couldnot forget the motive for my action. I lay back on the sofa andkicked the cushions with my feet in a kind of forlorn anger. Thoughtwas no use, nothing was any use, and my stomach was sick, sick withfear. And suddenly I became aware of an immense fatigue thatoverwhelmed my mind and my body, and made me feel as helpless as alittle child. The tears that were always near my eyes streamed downmy face, making my cheek sore against the wet cushion, and my breathcame in painful, ridiculous gulps. For a moment I made an effort tocontrol my grief; and then I gave way utterly, crying with my wholebody like a little child, until, like a little child, I fell asleep.

  When I awoke the room was grey with dusk, and I sat up with aswaying head, glad to hide the shame of my foolish swollen faceamongst the shadows. My mouth was still salt with tears, and I wasvery thirsty, but I was always anxious to hide my weakness fromother people, and I was afraid that if I asked for something todrink they would see that I had been crying. The fire had gone outwhile I slept, and I felt cold and stiff, but my abandonment ofrestraint had relieved me, and my fear was now no more than a vagueunrest. My mind thought slowly but very clearly. I saw that it was apity that I had not been more ill than I was, for then, like mybrother, I should have gone away for a month instead of a fortnight.As it was, everybody laughed at me because I looked so well, andsaid they did not believe that I had been ill at all. If I hadthought of it earlier I might have been able to make myself worsesomehow or other, but now it was too late. When the maid came in andlit the gas for tea she blamed me for letting the fire out, and toldme that I had a dirty face. I was glad of the chance to slip awayand wash my burning cheeks in cold water. When I had finished anddried my face on the rough towel I looked at myself in the glass. Ilooked as if I had been to the seaside for a holiday, my cheeks wereso red!

  That night as I lay sleepless in my bed, seeking for a cool placebetween the sheets in which to rest my hot feet, the sickness of fearreturned to me, and I knew that I was lost. I shut my eyes tightly,but I could not shut out the vivid pictures of school life that mymemory had stored up for my torment; I beat my head against thepillow, but I could not change my thoughts. I recalled all thepossible events that might interfere with my return to school, a newillness, a railway accident, even suicide, but my reason would notaccept these romantic issues. I was helpless before my destiny, andmy destiny made me I afraid.

  And then, perhaps I was half asleep or fond with fear, I leapt out ofbed and stood in the middle of the room to meet life and fight it.The hem of my nightshirt tickled my shin and my feet grew cold on thecarpet; but though I stood ready with my fists clenched I could seeno adversary among the friendly shadows, I could hear no sound butthe I drumming of the blood against the walls of my head. I got backinto bed and pulled the bedclothes about my chilled body. It seemedthat life would not fight fair, and being only a little boy and notwise like the grown-up people, I could find no way in which to outwitit.

  IV

  My growing panic in the face of my imminent return to school spoiltmy holiday, and I watched my brother's careless delight in the Surreypine-woods with keen envy. It seemed to me that it was easy for himto enjoy himself with his month to squander; and in any case he was ahealthy, cheerful boy who liked school well enough when he was there,though of course he liked holidays better. He had scant patience withmy moods, and secretly I too thought they were wicked. We had beentaught to believe that we alone were responsible for our sins, and itdid not occur to me that the causes of my wickedness might lie beyondmy control. The beauty of the scented pines and the new green of thebracken took my breath and filled my heart with a joy that changedimmediately to overwhelming grief; for I could not help contrastingthis glorious kind of life with the squalid existence to which I mustreturn so soon. I realised so fiercely the force of the contrast thatI was afraid to make friends with the pines and admire the palm-likebeauty of the bracken lest I should increase my subsequent anguish;and I hid myself in dark corners of the woods to fight the growingsickness of my body with the feeble weapons of my panic-strickenmind. There followed moments of bitter sorrow, when I blamed myselffor not taking advantage of my hours of freedom, and I hurried alongthe sandy lanes in a desolate effort to enjoy myself before it wastoo late.

  In spite of the miserable manner in which I spent my days, thefortnight seemed to pass with extraordinary rapidity. As the endapproached, the people around me made it difficult for me to concealmy emotions, the grown-ups deducing from my melancholy that I wastired of holidays and would be glad to get back to school, and mybrother burdening me with idle messages to the other boys-messagesthat shattered my hardly formed hope that school did not reallyexist. I stood ever on the verge of tears, and I dreaded meal-times,when I had to leave my solitude, lest some turn of the conversationshould set me weeping before them all, and I should hear once morewhat I knew very well myself, that it was a shameful thing for a boyof my age to cry like a little girl. Yet the tears were there and thehard lump in my throat, and I could not master them, though I stoodin the woods while the sun set with a splendour that chilled myheart, and tried to drain my eyes dry of their rebellious, bitterwaters. I would choke over my tea and be rebuked for bad manners.

  When the last day came that I had feared most of all, I succeeded insaying goodbye to the people at the house where I had stopped, and inmaking the mournful train journey home without disgracing myself. Itseemed as though a merciful stupor had dulled my senses to a muteacceptance of my purgatory. I slept in the train, and arrived home sosleepy that I was allowed to go straight to bed without comment. Foronce my body dominated my mind, and I slipped between the sheets inan ecstasy of fatigue and fell asleep immediately.

  Something of this rare mood lingered with me in the morning, and itwas not until I reached the Meat Market that I realised the extent ofmy misfortune. I saw the greasy, red-faced men with their hands andaprons stained with blood. I saw the hideous carcases of animals, themasses of entrails, the heaps of repulsive hides; but most clearly ofall I saw an ugly sad little boy with a satchel of books on his backset down in the midst of an enormous and hostile world. The windows;and stones of the houses were black with soot, and before me therelay school, the place that had never brought me anything but sorrowand humiliation. I went on, but as I slid on the cobbles, my mindcaught an echo of peace, the peace of pine-woods and heather, thepeace of the library at home, and, my body trembling with revulsion,I leant against a lamp-post, deadly sick. Then I turned on my heelsand walked away from the Meat Market and the school for ever. As Iwent I cried, sometimes openly before all men, sometimes furtivelybefore shop-windows, dabbing my eyes with a wet pocket-handkerchief,and gasping for breath. I did not care where my feet led me, I wouldgo back to school no more.

  I had played truant for three days before the grown-ups discoveredthat I had not returned to school. They treated me with thatextraordinary consideration that they always extended to our greatcrimes and never to our little sins of thoughtlessness or highspirits. The doctor saw me. I was told that I would be sent to acountry school after the next holidays, and meanwhile I was allowedto return to my sofa and my dreams. I lay there and read Dickens andwas very happy. As a rule the cat kept me company, and I was pleasedwith his placid society, though he made my legs cramped. I thoughtthat I too would like to be a cat.