Gentian Hill

by Elizabeth Goudge

  2

  The end of this particular adventure was not yet, but for Zachary, the ten months that led up to the end were entirely different from the months that had preceded that starry morning. He was as sensitive as ever, he hated being at sea as much as ever, his fear was still a demon that had to be ceaselessly dealt with, yet there seemed a light upon these days, lit by the born leader of men upon the flagship.

  A few hours after the signal, they were off upon that chase of four thousand miles, all around the Mediterranean and then to the West Indies and back, which was to be one of those failures that live in history more thrillingly than many victories. It was a gallant and crazy endeavor, made by ships which had been so long at sea that they were scarcely seaworthy any longer. But from the moment when the Victory, with a light at her stern, had led the Fleet in wind and darkness through the narrow dangerous passage between the Biocian and Sardinian rocks, to the blue summer day when they returned from the Indies to the Mediterranean again without having caught the enemy, no meanness tarnished it at all.

  A midshipman who had had a classical education, even though he might be extremely seasick, could not fail to be thrilled by the Mediterranean. Nelson maneuvered his ships through the straits of Messina in terrible weather with great skill, and Zachary looked with awe upon Scylla and Charybdis and the fires of Stromboli. He saw Tunis, Malta, and Crete, and in an interval between storms, in a calm sunrise, saw the coast of Greece with rose-colored rocks reflected in a mother-of-pearl sea. Then back again, the enemy having escaped them, the length of the Mediterranean, past the coast of Spain with its white houses built among the orange groves, and good-by to old and lovely Europe and away to the West Indies. ·

  The crossing of the Atlantic was not as quick as it might have been because the battered old Superb, only able to limp along, kept them back. But courtesy forbade that she should be left behind, and she did her best to make up for lost time by sailing when the other ships stopped, her studding-sail booms lashed to the yards. It was fair weather and Zachary became downright happy. He could bear to think of home now, and wrote long letters to Stella and the doctor, though heaven only knew when they would get them, describing the chase down the Mediterranean and back, with the glimpses of ancient glory seen through the spray and the rain. And he tried to capture upon paper the special flavor of the blue days he was living through as he wrote. Most of the men on board, impatient to catch the enemy, found the slow days intolerably hard to get through, but for Zachary, in no hurry at all to make acquaintance with battle and death, they were halcyon days. He managed to forget the purpose of them in the magic of each as it came, and he soaked up the beauty and sunshine into himself to his infinite strengthening and refreshment.

  The routine of each ship went like clockwork, the days were leisurely, and for the first time, Zachary knew that life lived upon the sea could be as gracious and friendly as life upon the land. The gentle rhythmic dip and rise of the painted hulls in the blue water, and the sound of the wind in the rigging, seemed to become a part of the rhythm of his beating pulses, just as the rhythm of the ploughing and the wind in the trees had done at Weekaborough. He looked up at the towering sails over his head as he had looked up into the branches of the yew tree on Bowerly Hill; and a race to the masthead, which once had turned him sick with terror, was now almost enjoyable, like climbing into the yew tree and being held there safely. The ship was home and his hammock in the cockpit was his own particular corner of it, and he would lie there reading happily until he slept, oblivious at last of the noise around him. The night watches held no more terrors. They were still and lovely, with stars that were new to him blazing in the sky, and gold and silver fish streaking through the phosphorescent water. He made no intimate friends apart from Cobb and the cat, but his carefully cultivated efficiency, cheerfulness, and his natural gentleness brought him liking and respect. They had leisure now for the social graces, and he enjoyed these. The midshipmen were invited in turn to dine in state with the Captain. They sat at a table set with silver and glass and fine china, with the stern windows open on the calm sea. There was plenty of good talk and good wine, and afterwards a stately pacing upon the quarter-deck and discussion upon affairs of state. Those idyllic days might be the briefest of interludes, but Zachary vowed that he would never forget them. He knew now that every kind of life and situation holds somewhere within it for the Ending its own kernel of quiet, each small possession of mortal peace a symbol of the eternal fortress and a door to it. He would be able to hold on now through the months of storm, remembering the days of peace at the heart of them to which the way was sure.

  The whole of the West Indies meant less to Zachary than his one glimpse of the coast of Greece, but he did blink approvingly at those islands looking like chunks of jewels lying on the sea, and rolled the music of their names on his tongue with appreciation-Trinidad. Martinique. Dominica. "They sound like archangels, Cobb," he said. But Cobb only swore. He was spoiling for a fight, and they had just missed the enemy for the second time. Around again, homeward bound once more for Europe, and the old Superb still laboring after, all sails set to catch the enemy before they reached Cadiz. They were short of food now, the ships were in worse shape than ever, the enemy had Eve days start, and they did not catch them. The Victory and the Superb sailed for England, leaving the rest of the Fleet to watch for the enemy to come out again. It was the end of the great chase, but not of this particular adventure. Nelson would quickly be back again. The enemy would have to face the music sometime.

  Through those baking midsummer days they watched Cadiz as a cat a mousehole. Those days were, for Zachary, no longer tranquil, in spite of the blue sea, the warm sun, and the scent of the orange groves drifting to them from the coast of Spain. They were all keyed up to an almost intolerable sense of expectation, a small fleet waiting for battle with a much larger one, and irritable at the iron discipline imposed by Collingwood in Nelson’s absence. Cobb was bad tempered with excitement, Zachary with dread. Even Snow, the cat, was off color. For Zachary the battle had begun already, as he fought not to be afraid of his fear. He could no longer concentrate successfully on the books he tried to read, but single sentences stayed with him, as before, and steadied him, especially those sentences that were written in Stella’s locket. "Love sings to all things which live and are, soothing the troubled minds of gods and men." Love of God, love of country, love of glory, love of a little girl, love of the stars at midnight, it lifted you out of yourself and away from your fear.

  Nelson was in England for only twenty-five days, but the weeks of his absence seemed as many years to the waiting fleet. And then, one evening at the end of October, the Victory quietly slipped in amongst them again. With Cadiz and the enemy so close, there could be no salutes or hoisting of colors, yet Zachary felt that the little man over there upon his quarter-deck must surely feel the surge of affection and relief that went through the whole fleet; it was something almost tangible in the silence of the still, warm, orange-scented dusk.

  The atmosphere subtly changed. The days of waiting were now tingling with activity as Nelson moved his squadrons here and there like chessmen, trying to tempt the enemy out and at the same time to prevent them escaping into the Mediterranean. Cruising with his frigate squadron close to Cadiz, actually able to see those great ships within the harbor, Zachary’s dread mysteriously lessened. It was said that they were outnumbered and outgunned. What of it? If they were victorious, the greater the glory, and if not, the greater the glory, too. If he was right, and glory was simply the symbolic thing that blazed out at the other end of supreme effort-sustained with supreme fortitude-then it was unimportant whether you were victorious or not; indeed, you were victorious if the fortitude remained unconquered. And as for the fortitude itself, it came with the effort, as Dr. Crane had said.

  October 5, and exciting news passed through the English fleet. The enemy in Cadiz were getting their troops on board, and the Spanish squadron at Cartagena had their topsai
ls up. October 9, and the Cadiz fleet had bent their topgallant sails. October 10, pouring rain and the frustration of further waiting. October 18, fine weather again with an easterly wind-perfect weather for the enemy to put to sea. October 19, and the combined fleets of France and Spain had begun to come out; they could see them in the distance. October 20, and the news had raced from masthead to masthead, "The enemy’s fleet is at sea." But daylight of that Sunday morning found the world shrouded in sea mist, and the enemy could not be seen, only at intervals the towering cliffs of Cape Trafalgar.

  There was something menacing about those cliffs, seen through the rents in the mist, and Zachary kept the dawn watch in the company of his demon. He had imagined that he had fought Apollyon before, but he had been mistaken. Until now the dark wings had merely brushed him in passing, and he had beaten them off as one beats off the wings of a swooping bat, but now the evil thing was as close to him as though it had made itself a part of him. Like the mist, it was around him, in him, and choking him. It was too close for him to see its obscene face or feel its foul breath, so close that there seemed nothing to struggle against. Yet he struggled. Motionless, his face set, he fought a queer battle that was nothing at all except the fight to keep his body still and his face set. That was all. Everything that precept and experience had seemed to teach him through all the months that lay behind went from him as though it had never been. He did not recall Stella or home, for his memory seemed frozen by his fear. He merely kept his watch.

  The boatswain’s pipe sounded, his watch was over, and he had other duties to do. As he had fought to keep still, he fought now to remember what they were. He remembered, and throughout the morning he did them stonily and speechlessly, but well. His will still functioned and his body in obedience to his will. During the morning the mist lifted, the wind shifted, and voices about him proclaimed that it would be today. It made no difference to him when they said that, for the demon could come no closer. Yet as the morning wore on, something did make a difference to him, something akin to the growing sunlight that warmed his frozen body touched his frozen memory and he remembered Stella. No more than that. Just Stella.

  The afternoon passed and he was able to wonder at the functioning of his will and the obedience of his body, and wondered, too, if that which he had learned and forgotten was that which steeled his will. The evening came and the voices said it would be tomorrow. It made no difference to him that they said that. Tomorrow or the next day, it made no odds. Whenever it was, he believed now that he could stand the test. As a sailor knows that the worst of a gale is over, even though the wind still rages, so, though the demon was still with him, he knew that the worst of his light was done.

  It was a queer night, lit by strange lights and eerie with the boom of guns. The English ships signaled the where abouts of the enemy to each other with blue lights and gunfire, and at midnight Zachary’s frigate could see the orange glow of lamps from the stern cabin windows of thirty-three men of war. And they were not English ships. Overhead, above the blue lights and the orange lights, the stars shone fitfully through the clouds.

  October 21, and just before dawn the English fleet altered its course. They had drawn the enemy fleet well away from Cadiz, and now they turned to the northeast, ready to attack. There was a slight mist, and a heavy swell that made Zachary feel seasick again until he came on deck and saw, only a few miles away, the great ships whose lights they had seen at midnight, and in the beauty and terror of the sight he forgot himself completely.

  After that, he had no time to remember anything. The signal "Prepare for battle" was flashed through the fleet, the drums beat to quarters, and each man ran to his duty. The ships’ company had tied silk handkerchiefs around their heads to protect their ears from the roar of the guns, and they stripped to their waists. They worked quickly and quietly, carrying wooden bulkheads, canvas screens, furniture, and crockery to the hold, dousing the sails with buckets of water and sanding the decks, making the guns ready, preparing the cockpit for the wounded, setting buckets of water, tourniquets, and swabs where they would be needed, and all within the six minutes allotted for the task.

  By seven o’clock, the English ships were sailing in two columns--Nelson and the Victory leading the northern column, Collingwood and the Royal Sovereign leading the southern, towards the five-mile-long curve of the enemy ships. They sailed steadily, with all sails set, and by eleven o’clock. there were only three miles between them. The sea was smooth now, the sky clear of cloud, both sky and sea gloriously blue, and the sun blazed down upon a scene so brilliant that it took Zachary’s breath away. The English ships had most of them been painted with the Nelson checker, black bands between the yellow of the gun decks and black ports, and their poops were bright with gilding. The French and Spanish ships were painted scarlet, black, and yellow; the great Santissfina Trinidad could be clearly seen in all her glory of vermilion and white, with a white figurehead. Above the bright colors towered the forest of masts and the swelling sails.

  As the English men-of-war rolled gently on, their bands began to play. The sailors seemed excited, happy, and fearless, sharpening cutlasses, polishing guns, and singing to the music of the bands. Some of them danced a hornpipe and others called out instructions as to the dispersal of their property if they were killed. "Bill, you can ’ave me trousers. Tom, you can ’ave me best ’andkercher." But not as though death were anything very imminent. A signal flew to the masthead of the Victory, "England expects that every man will do his duty." As the message passed down the lines, it was greeted with a tremendous roar of cheering. Could this be war, wondered Zachary, this sunshine, brilliance, music, and cheering? He was standing behind the First Lieutenant, whose messenger he would be throughout the battle. His heart was beating like a sledge hammer. But not with fear. Only with awe at the intolerable beauty of it all.

  Then another signal flewfrom the Victory’s masthead, the signal for close action, and in a very few minutes the enemy had opened fire. The two English columns sailed on stoically, enduring it, holding their own fire for perhaps twenty minutes, until the two spearheads, the Victory and the Royal Sovereign, had broken the enemy column. One by one the great ships behind them sailed into the fight, sweeping out fanwise, each to attack her prey.

  The strategy of the battle, the perfect carrying through of a brilliantly conceived plan, was as lost upon Zachary as upon the other seamen taking part in it. For them, after the fury broke, it was merely hell. For months Zachary had been dreading this ordeal, and he found it worse than anything he had conceived of, even in his most lurid imaginings. Afterward, he wondered how it was possible for men to keep sane in the midst of such an infernal uproar. He had yet to discover under what appalling conditions men can keep sane, provided it does not go on too long.

  The cannons along both sides of the two gun decks were all thundering and flashing fire, the heavy carriages banging and leaping at each recoil, and above these the upper battery of cannonades roared at each shot. The hissing and screaming of the round shot seemed to tear one’s head open, and every now and then there was an ear-splitting crash as the shots struck home. It was an horrifying uproar but perhaps it was merciful; the men were so dazed by it that the terrible sights they saw did not strike home quite as they would have done without it. The evil-smelling black smoke from the burning powder poured everywhere, so that it was hard to breathe for the stench of it. It was difficult to see much in the murk, and that too was merciful; but now and then the filthy black clouds would part, and there would be some strange and terrible sight framed in black smoke as in a picture frame. Once Zachary saw two great ships locked in a death grip, drifting before the wind, and did not know that they were the Victory and the Redoubtable, and that down in the dimly lit red glare of the Victory’s cockpit, Nelson at the moment lay dying. And another time he saw the vermilion and blue of an enemy hull looming right above their frigate like a great cliff. For a brief moment, he could see the torn smoke blackened sails and the shar
p-shooters taking aim in the rigging; then the guns blazed again, the ship rocked and shuddered, and the smoke once more blotted out the picture.

  The fight continued, becoming harder for those who were left, as the ranks thinned on the ships. Yet each man continued able to do what he had to do, and Zachary was no exception. He obeyed his orders instantly and accurately, and seemed to have the strength of ten men in the fulfilling of them. He had known a few thrills of bitter fear during the first terrible twenty minutes of slow advance, but once the light had begun, there had been no more of that. Hour after hour it went on, the work and discipline of the wounded ships functioning all the while with order and purpose. Men toiled at the guns, in the magazines, in the rigging, carrying the wounded, flinging the dead and dying overboard, running messages, and repairing underwater timbers. Hour after hour upon each ship, the master-at-arms went upon his ceaseless rounds, noting how all was going. Hour after hour the officers maintained their ceaseless vigilance, keeping the machinery of the fight turning over. Hour after hour admirals and captains-cocked hats on their heads, stars and orders shining on their breasts-paced their quarter decks until they died. Hour after hour, down in the stifling cockpits, the surgeons and their mates, sleeves rolled to their elbows, endured the worst horror of it all.

  It was extraordinary to have it over, for the thing had seemed eternal. Yet at sunset it was over. By sunset the last of the battle noises had died into silence, the stricken ships were being prepared for the night, and the wretchedness of exhaustion and reaction had each man in its grip. But they had won a great victory! Zachary, sitting on a coil of rope with his arms on his knees and his aching head in his arms, told himself that over and over again; but he could not seem to take it in. They had won a glorious victory. The fleets of France and Spain were defeated. England was safe now from invasion. Stella was safe. The frigate, though badly battered, was still seaworthy. He, himself, had suffered no more damage than a slight flesh wound in his right arm, and a splitting headache. And he had stood the test! That strength had been there. All that the doctor had told him had been perfectly true. He had every cause to rejoice. But he couldn’t, for Cobb was dead. Cobb was dead, and Snow, the ship’s cat.