It was about something my father was involved in to do with the neighbourhood and Sir Edward was interested. I rode over with my father. When I read about the case in the papers it all came back.
There were two brothers and the adopted one. We were all shocked when we read about it. One doesn’t expect that sort of thing to happen to people one knows . however slightly. “
“How very interesting. There was a lot of talk about it in our house . among the servants … not my parents.”
While we were talking, the deck-swabber came by, trundling a trolley on which were bottles of beer.
“Good morning,” I called.
He nodded his head in acknowledgement and went on wheeling.
“A friend of yours? ” said Lucas.
“He’s the one who swabs the deck. Remember, he was in the wine cellar.”
“Oh yes … I remember. Seems a bit surly, doesn’t he?”
“He’s a little reserved, perhaps. It may be that they are not supposed to talk to passengers.”
“He seems different from the others.”
“Yes, I thought so. He never says much more than good-morning and perhaps a comment on the weather.”
We dismissed the man from our minds and talked of other things. He told me about the estate in Cornwall and some of the eccentric people who lived there. I told him about my home life and Mr. Dolland’s ‘turns’; and I had him laughing at my descriptions of kitchen life.
“You seem to have enjoyed it very much.”
“Oh, I was fortunate.”
“Do your parents know?”
“They are not really interested in anything that happened after the birth of Christ.”
And so we talked.
The next morning when I took my seat on deck in the early morning, I saw the deck-swabber, but he did not come near me.
We were heading for Cape Town and the wind had been rising all day. I had seen little of my parents. They spent a lot of time in their cabin. My father was perfecting his lecture and working on his book and my mother was helping him. I saw them at meals when they regarded me with that benign absentmindedness to which I had become accustomed. My father asked if I had plenty to do. I might come to his cabin where he would give me something to read. I assured him I was enjoying shipboard life, I had something to read and Mr. Lorimer and I had become good friends. This seemed to bring them some relief and they went back to their work.
The Captain, who dined with us occasionally, told us that some of the worst storms he had encountered had been round the Cape. It was known to ancient mariners as the Cape of Storms. In any case we could not expect the calm weather we had enjoyed so far to be always with us. We must take the rough with the smooth. We were certainly about to take the rough.
My parents stayed in their cabin but I felt the need for fresh air and went out on to the open deck.
I was unprepared for the fury which met me. The ship was being roughly buffeted and felt as though she were made of cork. She pitched and tossed to such an extent that I thought she was about to turn over. The tall waves rose like menacing mountains as they fell and drenched the deck. The wind tore at my hair and clothes. I felt as though the angry sea was attempting to lift me up and take me overboard.
It was alarming and yet at the same time exhilarating.
I was wet through with sea-water and found it almost impossible to stand up. Breathlessly I clung to the rail.
As I stood there debating whether it was wise to cross the slippery deck and at least get away from the direct fury of the gale, I saw the deck hand. He swayed towards me, his clothes damp. The spray had darkened his hair so that it looked like a black cap and sea-water glistened on his face.
“Are you all right?” he shouted at me.
“Yes,” I shouted back.
“Shouldn’t be up here. Ought to get down.”
“Yes,” I cried.
“Come on. I’ll help you.”
He staggered to me and fell against me.
“Is it often as rough as this?” I panted.
“Haven’t seen it. My first voyage.”
He had taken my arm and we rolled drunkenly across the deck. He opened a door and pushed me inside.
“There,” he said.
“Don’t venture out in a sea like this again.”
Before I could thank him, he was gone.
Staggering, I made my way to my cabin. Mary Kelpin was lying on the lower bunk. She was feeling decidedly unwell.
I said I would look in on my parents. They were both prostrate.
I came back to my cabin, took a book, climbed to the top bunk and tried to read. It was not very easy.
All through the afternoon we were waiting for the storm to abate. The ship went on her rocky way, creaking and groaning as though in agony.
By evening the wind had dropped a little. I managed to get down to the dining-room. The fiddles were up on the tables to prevent the crockery sliding off and there were very few people there. I soon saw Lucas.
“Ah,” he said, ‘not many of us brave enough to face the dining-room.”
“Have you ever seen such a storm?”
“Yes, once when I was coming home from Egypt. We passed Gibraltar and were coming up to the Bay. I thought my last hour had come.”
“That is what I thought this afternoon.”
“She’ll weather the storm. Perhaps tomorrow the sea will be as calm as a lake, and we shall wonder what all the fuss was about. Where are your parents?”
“In their cabin. They did not feel like coming down.”
“In common with many others obviously.”
I told him I had been on deck and had been rather severely reprimanded by the deck hand.
“He was quite right,” said Lucas.
“It must have been highly dangerous.
You could easily have been washed overboard. I reckon we were on the edge of a hurricane. “
“It makes you realize how hazardous the sea can be.”
“Indeed it does. One should never take the elements lightly. The sea like fire … is a good friend but a bad enemy.”
“I wonder what it is like to be shipwrecked.”
“Horrendous.”
“Adrift in an open boat,” I murmured.
“Much more disagreeable than it sounds.”
“Yes, I imagine so. But it seems the storm is dying down now.”
“I’d never trust it. We have to be prepared for all weather. This has been a salutary lesson to us, perhaps.”
“People don’t always learn their lessons.”
“I don’t know why when they have a good example of how treacherous the sea can be. Smiling one moment … angry … venomous … the next.”
“I hope we shall encounter no more hurricanes.”
It was past ten o’clock when I reached my cabin. Mary Kelpin was in her bed. I went to the next cabin to say good-night to my parents. My father was lying down and my mother was reading some papers.
I told them I had dined with Lucas Lorimer and was now going to bed.
“Let’s hope the ship is a little steadier by morning,” said my mother.
“This perpetual motion disturbs your father’s train of thought, and there is still some work to do on the lecture.”
I slept fitfully and woke in the early hours of the morning. The wind was rising and the ship was moving even more erratically than it had during the day. I was in danger of being thrown out of my bunk and sleep was impossible. I lay still, listening to the wailing and shrieking of the gale and the sound of the heavy waves as they lashed the sides of the ship.
And then . suddenly I heard a violent clanging of bells. I knew at once what this meant for on our first day at sea we had taken part in a drill which would make us prepared, in some small way, for an emergency. We were told then that we were to put on warm clothing, together with our lifejackets which were kept in the cupboard in our cabins, and make for the assembly point which had been chosen for us.
“This is it,” she said.
“That ghastly wind … and now … this.”
Her teeth were chattering and space was limited. It was not easy for us both to dress at the same time.
She was ready before I was, and when I had fumbled with buttons and donned my life jacket I hurried from the cabin to that of my parents.
The bells continued to sound their alarming note. My parents were looking bewildered, my father agitatedly gathering papers together.
I said: “There is no time for that now. Come along. Get these warm things on and where are your lifejackets?”
I then had the unique experience of realizing that a little quiet common sense has its advantages over erudition. They were pathetically meek and put themselves in my hands; at last we were ready to leave the cabin.
The alleyway was deserted. My father stopped short and some papers he was carrying fell from his hands. I hurriedly picked them up.
“Oh,” he said in horror.
“I’ve left behind the notes I made yesterday.”
“Never mind. Our lives are more important than your notes,” I said.
He stood still.
“I can’t … I couldn’t … I must go and get them.”
My mother said: “Your father must have his notes, Rosetta.”
I saw the stubborn look on their faces and I said hurriedly:
“I’ll go and get them. You go up to the lounge where we are supposed to assemble. I’ll get the notes. Where are they?”
“In the top drawer,” said my mother.
I gave them a little push towards the companionway which led to the lounge and I turned back. The notes were not in the top drawer. I searched and found them in a lower one. My life jacket rendered movement rather difficult. I grabbed the notes and hurried out.
The bells had stopped ringing. It was difficult to stand upright. The ship lurched and I almost fell as I mounted the companionway. There was no sign of my parents. I guessed they must have joined others at the assembly point and been hustled on deck to where the lifeboats would be waiting for them.
The violence of the storm had increased. I stumbled and slid until I came to rest at the bulkhead. Picking myself up, feeling dazed, I looked about for my parents. I wondered where they could have gone in the short time I had taken to retrieve the notes. I was clutching them in my hands now as I managed to make my way to the deck. There was pandemonium. People were surging towards the rail. In vain I looked among them for my parents. I suddenly felt terrifyingly alone among that pushing screaming crowd.
It was horrific. The wind seemed to take a malicious delight in tormenting us. My hair was loose and flying wildly about my head, being tossed over my eyes so that I could not see. The notes were pulled from my hands. For a few seconds I watched them doing a frivolous dance above my head before they were snatched-up by the violent wind, fluttered and fell into that seething mass of water.
We should have stayed together, I thought. And then:
Why? We have never been together. But this was different. This was danger. It was Death staring us in the face. Surely a few notes were not worth parting for at such a time?
Some people were getting into boats. I realized that my turn would not come for a long time . and when I saw the frail boats descending into that malignant sea, I was not sure that I wanted to trust myself to one of them.
The ship gave a sudden shivering groan as though it could endure no more. We seemed to keel over and I was standing in water. Then I saw one of the boats turn over as it was lowered. I heard the shrieks of its occupants as the sea hungrily caught them and drew them down.
I felt dazed and somewhat aloof from the scene. Death seemed almost certain. I was going to lose my life almost before it had begun. I started thinking of the past, which people say you do when you are drowning. But I was not drowning . yet. Here I was on this leaky frail vessel, facing the unprecedented fury of the elements, and I knew that at any moment I could be flung from the comparative safety of the deck into that grey sea in which no one could have a hope of survival. The noise was deafening; the shrieks and prayers of the people calling to God to save them from the fury of the sea . the sound of the raging tempest. the violent howling of the wind and the mountainous seas . they were like something out of Dante’s Inferno.
There was nothing to be done. I suppose the first thought of people faced with death is to save themselves. Perhaps when one is young death seems so remote that one cannot take it seriously. It is something which happens to other people, old people at that; one cannot imagine a world without oneself; one feels oneself to be immortal. I knew that many this night would lie in a watery grave but I could not really believe that I should be one of them.
I stood there . dazed . waiting . striving to catch a glimpse of my parents. I thought of Lucas Lorimer. Where was he? I wished I could see him. I thought fleetingly that he would probably still be calm and a little cynical. Would he talk of death as nonchalantly as he did of life?
Then I saw the overturned boat. It was being tossed about in the water. It came close to the spot where I was standing. Then it had righted itself and was bobbing about below me.
Someone had roughly caught my arm.
“You’ll be washed overboard in a minute if you stay here.”
I turned. It was the deck hand.
“She’s finished. She’ll turn over … it’s certain.”
His face was wet with spray. He was staring at the boat which the violent wind had brought close to the ship’s side. A giant wave brought it almost level with us.
He shouted: “It’s a chance. Come on. Jump.”
I was surprised to find that I obeyed. He had my arm still in a grip. It seemed unreal. I was sailing through the air and then plunging right down into that seething sea.
We were beside the boat.
“Grip!” he shouted above the tumult.
Instinctively I obeyed. He was very close to me. It seemed minutes but it could only have been seconds before he was in the boat. I was still clinging to the sides. Then his hands were on me. He was hauling me in beside him.
It was just in time. The boat was lifted up on the crest of an enormous wave. His arms were about me and he was holding me tightly.
“Hang on … hang on … for your life,” he cried.
It was a miracle. We were still in the boat.
We were breathless. , “Hang on. Hang on,” he kept shouting.
I am not sure what happened in the minutes that followed. I just knew that I was roughly buffeted and that the velocity of the wind took my breath away. I was aware of a violent crash as the Atlantic Star seemed to rise in the air and then keel over. I was blinded by the sea; my mouth was full of it. We were on the crest of the waves one moment, down in the depths of the ocean the next.
I had escaped from the sinking ship to a small boat which it seemed certain could not survive in such a sea.
This must be the end.
Time had ceased to register. I had no idea how long I was clinging to the sides of the boat, while only one thing seemed important: to stay on.
I was aware of the man close to me.
He shouted against the wind.
“We’re still afloat. How long …”
His voice was lost in the turmoil.
I could just make out the Atlantic Star. She was still in the water but at an unusual angle. Her prow seemed to have disappeared. I knew that there could be little chance of anyone’s surviving on her.
We continued to rock uncertainly, waiting for each wave which might end our lives. All about us the sea roared and raged . such a flimsy craft to defy that monster sea. I found myself wondering what would have happened to me if this man had not come along when he did and made me jump with him. What a miracle! I could scarcely believe it had happened. I thought of my parents. Where were they? Could they have escaped?
Then it seemed as though
the storm was a little less fierce. Was it my fancy? Perhaps it was a temporary lull. But it was a small respite.
One of the lifeboats was coming close to us. I scanned it anxiously in the hope that my parents might be in it. I saw the strained white faces . unrecognizable . unfamiliar. Then suddenly a wave caught the boat. For a second or so it hung suspended in the air and then it was completely enveloped by another giant wave. I heard the screams. The boat was still there. It was lifted high again. It seemed to stand perpendicular. I saw bodies tipped into the sea. Then the boat fell back and was overturned. It was upside down in the water before it rose again as the sea tossed it aside as a child might have done when a toy it had been playing with suddenly bored it.
I saw heads bobbing in the water for what seemed interminable minutes and then disappearing.
I heard my rescuer shouting: “Look. Someone’s drifting towards us.” It was a man. His head suddenly appeared close to us.
“Let’s get him on board … quick … or he’ll go under and take us with him.”
I stretched out my arms. I was overcome with the emotion which assailed me then for the man we were attempting to haul into the boat was Lucas Lorimer. It was a long time before we succeeded. He collapsed and lay face downwards. He was very still. I wanted to shout at him: You’re safe, Lucas. And I thought: As safe as any of us can be.
We turned him over onto his back. Recognizing him, my companion caught his breath. He shouted to me: “He’s in a bad way.”
“What can we do?”
“He’s half drowned.”
He bent over Lucas and started to pump the water out of his lungs. He was trying to save Lucas’s life and I wondered then how long he would be able to keep at it.
It was helpful to have something to do. He was succeeding. Lucas looked a little more alive.
I noticed there was something odd about his left leg. Every now and then one of his hands would move to it and touch it. He was only half-conscious but he was aware that something there was wrong.
“Can’t do any more,” murmured my rescuer.
“Will he be all right?”
He lifted his shoulders.
It must have been two hours or so before the wind started to subside.
The gusts were less frequent at first and we were still afloat.
The Captive Page 6
