by Neil M. Gunn
‘Don’t worry. It will be all right.’
The eyes came back and focused on the doctor’s face in a curious arid expression. ‘All right,’ he said. As he staggered, Norman caught him. ‘It’s all right,’ Charlie repeated, drawing himself to his own stance.
‘Has she been like this long?’ asked the doctor.
‘I think so, yes, for a time.’
‘We’ll wake her up, and take her along.’ Under the brown sail, Charlie’s jacket and jersey covered her.
As her eyes opened and turned upon them they held for several seconds a curious wet glitter of blind light. Consciousness came through the glitter and dispelled it. From the doctor’s face to Norman’s the eyes travelled.
‘Charlie!’ she muttered out of a hoarse throat.
‘Here’s Charlie,’ said the doctor.
Her eyes found Charlie. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, without moving. ‘They’ve come for you.’
She pushed herself into a sitting position, swaying against her supporting arm. She began breathing heavily. ‘Charlie!’ she cried like a wild frightened child.
He came to her then. He made to stoop but fell over on his hip. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘They’ve come for you. You’re all right now.’
It was an extraordinary moment, because though she had not yet got back full consciousness, something deep in her detected an alien element in Charlie’s voice and suddenly she gripped him and clung to him.
He held her for a little, staring over her head at the black rock wall.
The doctor decided she had a touch of fever. When they got her up, she swayed weakly on her feet. Norman put his arm round her. ‘Come you, Miss Flora,’ he said with the warm courtesy that was native to him. ‘You lean on me.’ His voice was gentle, his body strong and sure.
The doctor turned to Charlie. ‘Put these on.’
Charlie looked at the jersey and jacket, then put them on.
‘Now! Come along.’ The doctor’s voice was normal, friendly. ‘I smell smoke, do I? Did you manage a fire? Lean on me, if you want to.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Charlie.
They came out of the cave. Norman was now near the water line and carrying Flora. The doctor hurried forward. As William nosed the boat in, Norman and the doctor waded into the steep surf with Flora in their arms. They got her on board and then turned for Charlie.
But Charlie had stopped just outside the cave mouth, and as all eyes were turned on him he went slowly over towards his boat.
Every soul there knew, in one terrible moment, that Charlie did not want to come.
The point had been reached when it was easy to take life apart, one’s own life, cleanly, and dispose of it. Beyond bitterness and the last clotted mood, life comes clean and clear again, and final, like a brittle stalk, like clean seawater. This point lies beyond the place where all defeats meet and make living no longer possible.
Having come so far and been defeated, been defeated in his pride, his manhood, his seamanship, it was no longer possible for him to go back. Charlie could not go back. He could not go.
Norman knew this in his blood, knew it in so dreadful and intimate a way that he dared not go to Charlie, dared not move. Norman knew that Charlie’s legs would not answer him.
The seconds got drawn out beyond bearing while the Venture heaved dangerously and the water soused the two men standing in it to the arm-pits. Suddenly high above the pounding of the sea on the outer rock, rose the cry: ‘Charlie!’
Charlie, who was looking into his boat, turned his head.
‘Charlie!’ Her voice broke. The tears were on her face and she scrambled to her feet to make out of the boat.
Charlie came walking down towards them and Michael knew, where the marrow crawls inside the bone, that there came a courage, carried lightly, without expression, of a kind he had never before encountered.
As Charlie drew near the water, William, lying strongly on the oars, lifted his voice cheerfully: ‘It’s all right, Charlie, we’ll come back for your boat.’
Thus William passed it off for Charlie’s sake. As Charlie was helped into the Venture, Michael turned to Mr. Gwynn and beheld in the eyes a glimmer of profound feeling. ‘I’ll light the stove,’ said Mr. Gwynn and he went into the cabin.
From the Venture they all got on board the Stormy Petrel except William, who kept the heaving boats apart with a fender.
Charlie was quiet, did not look at any of them directly and spoke reasonably. With his three days’ growth and bare head he had the appearance of an outcast, but there was a detached dignity about him.
Flora, after her outburst, was strangely composed. She had thanked them as they helped her into the Stormy Petrel, and had at once sat down, her body upright, but with a burning light in her eyes, quite different from Charlie’s grey distant look. They were both obviously in a terribly weak condition.
Michael came out. ‘Right, Doctor!’
The two berths, which folded against the walls of the cabin, had been let down, and now the doctor took Flora inside. When he had got her stretched out, he felt her pulse.
‘The water, Doctor,’ said Mr. Gwynn, poking his head round from the galley, ‘is a week old. Will it be all right?’
‘Fine,’ answered the doctor, then continued his light comforting words to Flora. She smiled to him slowly and with such bright eyes that he thought, in her weakness, she was going to weep. The expression pierced him, and he turned away, hesitating for a moment before he stepped into the cockpit.
‘You’d better have a lie down,’ he said to Charlie.
‘I’m fine,’ said Charlie.
‘In you go, Charlie,’ said Norman. ‘The lie down will do you good.’
Charlie murmured ‘All right’ and went in.
‘Well?’ questioned Norman.
‘I have enough petrol for about two hours’ running,’ answered Michael. ‘On a calm day I have done it under an hour and a half.’
Norman looked at the weather. The blue was stretching over the sky. The wind would yet fall away completely. The sea was going down.
‘If you could give us a tow for a bit,’ he pondered.
‘Naturally,’ said Michael.
‘Only you mustn’t cut it fine. If you could take us clear of the islands, we’ll manage then. What do you think, Doctor?’
‘The sooner we get her into a warm bed the better. They’re both far through.’
Norman nodded. ‘The tide will soon be on the turn. It’ll be slack for a while. You get something hot to drink. You’re pretty cold looking yourself and wet to your middle.’
‘It’s a cold sea!’ The doctor smiled, feeling the cold crawling over his skin.
Nearly three days of it, without food!… Involuntarily his eyes lifted to the great hole in the rock. Day and night, through the howling strom. Charlie would be a good companion to a woman then. He knew that by the way she had turned blindly and clung to him, turned to the warmth that body and spirit had already given her.
Mr. Gwynn narrowly missed a bad scalding when the Stormy Petrel all at once began to rock violently from side to side. Charlie was thrown out of his bunk and seemed for a little while to be unconscious. Flora, who had first been heaved against the boat’s side, got an instinctive grip that held her.
More water had to be boiled, but in the end tea, with sugar and condensed milk, was served all round. The doctor attended to the two in the bunks. He did not ask them any questions, but treated them as normal patients who had come under his care. He had to support Flora with an arm round her shoulders while she drank. But neither of them seemed hungry. Charlie was completely uncaring. As Flora lay back, her eyes closed and the breath came from her as if her chest had been squeezed. Norman was anxious to be off. He had had a talk with William and Angus, who were now in the Venture. On a short tow rope, with William and Angus seated aft, the Venture did her best to keep her nose up, as Norman, at the tiller of the Stormy Petrel, swept out the way they had come in.
The sp
reading blue of the sky brought a freshness to the sea. Norman got the engine speed he wanted. After a time, with the islands well astern, he turned to the Venture. William nodded, raising his hand. Norman pulled the slip knot and heaved the rope clear. Already the Venture’s sail was taking the wind. Her head fell away and she started on her first long tack.
Again the doctor knew a swift surge of feeling at sight of the gallant craft and the two men in her. His eyes took a secret look at Michael and Mr. Gwynn and found them unconsciously staring at the climbing and plunging lobster boat, already falling behind, falling away, in the seas. They could not break the fascination. The doctor went into the cabin.
Charlie was on an elbow, about to get out of his bunk. Flora was finding the pitching distressing and muttered something in a rambling way, but the doctor eased her head upward as well as he could. When he glanced over his shoulder, Charlie was on the flat of his back with his eyes shut. He stayed there beside Flora, looking sometimes on her face, at the eyelashes, the fine temples, the delicate skin texture, the curves of the mouth, the nostrils, and finding behind the outward shape and the closed eyes that something of the lonely woman – which they had sought one night to give a name to, but could not. In unconscious rest, without the need to draw back, the nameless in her was very near. It was asleep like something in his hands, like something in a still place far within him. And suddenly, in a solemn way, as sleep or death is solemn, it was for ever distant from him, this face, this spirit, that was so near. In many a death scene, he had realized the uniqueness, the ultimate loneliness, of the human being. Now there was added something neither of life nor of death, that brought the realization: This is woman, and the revelation affected him with an untranslatable strangeness.
As the pitching slackened, he went out into the cockpit. They were entering Loch Ros, making for the calm of its northern shore. Norman was taking no chances. If the engine stopped now, he could fetch Balcreggan on the southern shore under his mizzen sail.
The Venture was not following them. She could be seen well out to sea, fighting to give the Point a wide berth – and so home to Cruime. They would want to have her ready for the morning and the lobsters that the storm may have brought to their fishing grounds.
When the doctor saw folk making for the jetty below Ros Lodge, his face hardened. It was going to be difficult for Charlie. Then another problem struck him. Should he order Flora to be taken to Ros Lodge or should he have her driven direct to the manse?
He could order either course, whether the minister was there or not.
The problem so tormented him that his face became expressionless. He didn’t know what to do. Ros Lodge was the last place in which he would wish to leave her. Yet to think of her in the manse, with her father…
Norman put the tiller over. Michael closed down the throttle and slid the gear into neutral. The Stormy Petrel glided into the stone jetty towards Erchie’s waiting hands.
There were about a dozen onlookers and they had their dramatic moment. Then an elderly woman cried out and came waddling and sliding over the slimy stones. She was the housekeeper at the manse. The doctor looked into her face and turned to Michael. ‘If you get the trap ready, we can send Flora and the housekeeper to the manse.’
Norman, the policeman, and the doctor carried Flora up the jetty. Michael told Erchie to get the old mare into the trap.
‘Very well, sir,’ replied Erchie, with a look at Charlie.
Charlie was on his own feet and began walking forward. Erchie caught his arm as he staggered.
‘It’s all right,’ said Charlie, stopping.
‘You’ll come up to the house, Charlie, and rest there,’ said Michael. ‘Let me give you a hand.’
Charlie bore their attentions for a little while, then on the dry gravel above the uneven stones, he stopped again. Erchie hurried away to get the trap ready.
‘Take it easy,’ said Michael to Charlie.
Mr. Gwynn, finding the earth moving like the sea, swayed slightly and cast his eyes over the watching faces.
Charlie disengaged his arm. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. His lips were bloodless and his eyes like glass. Then he walked away from Michael, going slowly and with great care like a drunk man.
For a moment, Michael could not move. No one moved. Charlie turned away from Ros Lodge, taking the shore road towards Sgeir. A figure came through the watchers and began following Charlie at a little distance. It was Dougald, his brother. The path curved round the plantation wall and in a little while they had passed from sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The following afternoon, in bright sunshine, several men were lounging about the joiner’s shop. The joiner was handling planks and hissing thoughtfully as he hirpled around.
‘It’s very good of him,’ said Norman, for Erchie had brought the news that if the carpenter got ready what was necessary to mend Charlie’s boat, the Stormy Petrel would run him down and tow the completed job home.
‘Yes, Mr. Sandeman seems all right,’ agreed Kenneth. ‘I think we might get a lot out of him if we went about it the right way.’
There was a smile at that.
‘All the same,’ said Kenneth, ‘that’s the way to look at it. I hope I won’t be grey before I see an engine in each of your boats.’
They laughed then.
‘Did he give you tally-ho?’ William asked Erchie.
‘He said something right enough,’ admitted Erchie, who was sixty-five, with hair showing grey under his cap, a rather long nose, and a tired friendly face. ‘Yes, he said something.’ He looked a trifle embarrassed and they waited for him with complete attention. ‘I didn’t know what to answer. Sure as death, boys, I didn’t know what to say. He asked me what he should pay you for having come to their rescue.’
William was the first to break the silence. A chuckling note or two came from deep in his throat. ‘There you are!’ he said to Kenneth. ‘Right first time!’
‘Why not?’ Kenneth answered him in a challenging voice. ‘It’s the law of the sea that you get paid in such a case. It’s salvage.’
Norman was looking at Erchie. ‘What did you say to him?’ he asked quietly.
‘To tell the truth, Norman, I did not know what to say, and the words came out of me without thinking, and I said you were not the kind of men to expect to be paid for saving anyone’s life, not at sea.’
Norman nodded. ‘Nor anywhere else, I hope.’
‘Man, Erchie,’ said William, enjoying the situation, ‘couldn’t you have thought of a bottle of whisky for the New Year itself? Or two bottles – for Angus is only a boy and he didn’t do much whatever.’
Angus grinned. ‘I’ll be remembering that when I come round with my bottle at the New Year to your house, William.’
‘So long as you come round with the bottle,’ said William. ‘What do you say, Smeorach?’
‘Och well, a present like that is maybe different. A decent man would like to give some little thing, and it would be a poor heart that couldn’t help him by taking it,’ replied Smeorach.
‘He’s smelling the drop already!’ declared William, looking sadly at the others.
‘As long as you smell no worse, William,’ retorted Smeorach, ‘you can blow your nose anywhere.’
They laughed.
‘All the same, Mr. Sandeman is right,’ contended Kenneth. ‘You saved his boat. He realizes that he should pay something for salvage.’
‘No,’ said Norman. ‘We did what any men would do. For myself, I would feel shame to be offered anything. Besides, wasn’t it out to look for Charlie, one of ourselves, he went?’
‘I had forgotten that,’ said Kenneth.
Everyone glanced at Kenneth and chuckled. Norman had fairly caught him that time!
‘I hear the girl Flora is coming on fine,’ Smeorach remarked.
‘She’s a well-built girl, with a good frame to her,’ said Norman.
They fell silent.
‘You wouldn’t think
of taking a walk out to see Charlie to-night, Norman?’ asked Kenneth.
‘I did think about it. But he mightn’t thank me.’
‘He looked a pretty sick man,’ said William.
‘When you’re like that, you don’t always want to be bothered, maybe,’ suggested Smeorach.
‘That is so,’ Norman agreed.
They shifted restlessly on their feet.
Presently Erchie left. He had a talk with John-the-roadman and one or two others. There was only one topic of conversation along that coast. Sarah and Betsy and a hundred girls like them could think of nothing else. Boys were thrilled by the daring rescue of the Stormy Petrel, and fences had to be taken in a flying leap, even as the hero Angus had leapt from one boat to another in mid ocean. But about the finest bit of the story was when Angus found the hidden tin of petrol. That capped everything. Oh, that was good! Think of them going to their doom with that tin there! And then in leaps Angus… and his eye finds the hidden tin. Like magic!
It was growing dark as Erchie saw a boy coming along the road towards him, clearly pursued by many fears or devils. It was young Hamish and Erchie stopped him.
But Hamish could not speak. The blood had been drawn from his face to keep his legs going.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’ asked Erchie and his eyes were searching.
‘He gave it to me!’ gulped Hamish. ‘He did!’
‘Who?’
‘Mr. Sandeman.’
‘I won’t take it from you. Let me see it… Ay, it’s his best trout rod.’ Erchie shoved back the smooth cork handle into its canvas case. ‘It’s a beautiful rod. Did he give you the reel for it?’
‘Yes,’ said Hamish, reluctantly producing it and handing it over, his eyes jumping from Erchie’s hands to his face. ‘He gave it to me himself.’ When Erchie tested the reel’s action, its lovely crying sound was too much for Hamish and his hand came out fearfully for it. Erchie smiled and Hamish instantly pocketed the reel.
‘What a pity you didn’t get a fly or two to complete you,’ said Erchie.
Hamish looked up from under his eyelids.
Erchie put a friendly hand on his head. Then Hamish produced the fly book. He had not yet had time to look at it properly himself, and as the pages turned over Erchie began to name the flies.
