by Cormac James
They watched Myer collect his coat, go down. Cabot had been listening at the galley door.
I suppose somebody has to be in charge, he said. It was a peace offering, to nobody in particular.
DeHaven turned his head, seemed to find something distasteful in what he saw. Somebody, not anybody, he said. In English there’s quite a difference. Perhaps one of your friends might be good enough to explain it to you.
Cabot considered the man. He cleared his throat scrupulously and spat far out onto the deck, stepped back into the darkness. Then Brooks was beside them. The captain wanted them to go below, fore and aft, to check for damage.
They crawled as far forward as possible, with a single lamp. Between the bows it was a mass of timber, shores radiating from every Samson post, in every direction, and extra beams and knees added wherever they could be got in. The two men lay port and starboard, facing each other, each lounging against the bow’s inner sheath.
Bravo, Morgan said. Another great diplomatic success. He nodded at everything overhead, the scene with Cabot, the scene with Myer. His friend could be resolutely, deliberately irritable at times. He seemed to enjoy it, as the assertion of a right.
In the silence, he could hear the ice fidgeting at the side of the ship, fussy but patient, only inches away.
You think I should keep my mouth shut, DeHaven said. Like you. And for why? For a broken-down horse soldier, that somebody somewhere one day decided to give a ship.
We were horse soldiers ourselves once. Both of us.
In a distant land, a long, long time ago.
Look, it matters not a whit what he or any one of us once was. Just now, he’s the captain, Morgan said.
Is that who he is?
Morgan listened like a schoolboy, sullen. His friend seemed to think it courageous, such talk. At least, that courage was what others lacked. It was easy for him, of course. He risked nothing. At worst he could change ships at Beechey, as Myer said. Quite likely there would be a supply steamer there ready to return home. How much harder it was, though, to listen and watch and obey without a murmur.
He bowed his head, exhaled audibly. Geoff, he said. He was starting all over again. Look at it this way. From a purely pragmatic perspective. You are now on, we won’t say friendly terms with him, but on both sides you’re still able to keep up the pretence of civility. But go ahead, have it out with him, a real proper flare-up, and see where it gets you. Because afterwards, after you’ve worked up a nice head of steam, and blown it all off, who’s still captain? Myer. Who’s still judge and jury to every man aboard? Myer. Which is why not a man aboard will lift a finger to defend you, myself included, and we’re damned right. Resign your service if you like. Who’s still your lord and master? Myer. At least until he can set you down someplace. But take a look around. Wildly, he flung out an arm. At best it’ll be Beechey, if the other ships are still there. But if they’re not, what will you do? Because from there, if he decides to push all the way to the Pole just to spite you, that’s exactly where we’ll go. We could be two and three years out here yet without meeting another ship. So choose your mask carefully, Morgan told his friend. He was pointing at his face. Because if you ask me, you might well have to wear it awhile yet.
They fell into silence, as they crawled slowly back from the bow, searching for signs of an injury. From the other side of the boards, relentlessly, came a neat patter as of pegs on a plank floor.
Christ, DeHaven said, lifting the lamp. Look. You could put your finger into that.
A long crack ran right down the length of the sternpost. DeHaven thrust the light closer. He glanced over at Morgan, desperate to know what the thing was, and what it meant.
With the lamp they followed the thing down, all the way to the floor.
Jesus Almighty, DeHaven said. Down the bottom you could put your dick into it almost.
If you were so inclined, Morgan said.
If you were so inclined, DeHaven conceded.
These things deserve to be specified.
Indeed they do, DeHaven agreed. Indeed they do.
17th June
Morgan brought Myer down to see for himself. Myer called down Brooks, Brooks called down Cabot and Banes, the carpenters, and that evening they turned east again.
Halfway through dinner, DeHaven told Cabot to bring another bottle of wine.
I don’t think we need it, Cabot, Myer said.
Cabot, you can get one from my own private supply, DeHaven said. If the captain does not wish to make the sacrifice.
That is not the issue, Myer said.
I am going to have a drink, DeHaven told them. You are not obliged to join me, of course.
Are you mourning or celebrating? Brooks asked.
I am not yet sure, DeHaven said. Not yet having been informed what course of action our captain intends.
Myer laid his cutlery down. Mr Brooks, he said. Assemble the crew.
When they were all gathered on deck, Myer stood up on a crate. In a voice that was clearly satisfied, he delivered this speech:
It has been hinted to me lately that some little query may be alive in certain minds as to our course. You cannot doubt, I hope, that despite our latest reverse, our ultimate destination and purpose remain unchanged. Of course the greenest cabin-boy knows that without a functioning rudder we cannot take to the open sea, and it is for that end I intend presently to return to Disko and refit there as quickly as we can, and thence return to the North Water as soon as is at all practicable, before this year’s freeze sets in. I tell you this in the confidence that not a man amongst you can conceive an honourable alternative. After all, I myself feel, and suppose every man before me feels, that we are exactly what we were at the beginning of summer. Will anyone contradict me?
2nd July
The sea was slopping its thick stew against the hull. Since coming out of The Pack, the men all seemed to feel it a comfort – the darling cradle, the gentle swell. Only Morgan did not like it. He felt brittle, almost sick. He felt the world unsteady again, shifting beneath him whether he moved or stayed still. He stood at the bow, looking into the bay, at the wooden house on the high ground, well back from the shore. All along the beach the whale carcasses were flecked with ravens. The starving dogs were landed and unleashed. From the bow, Morgan watched the rampage. He watched the whaleboat wheeling to come back. He was next.
Rink welcomed them like old friends. Morgan let the other men talk. They told him about Giorgio. Rink seemed to think it was to be expected, almost fair. This was how the man kept himself safe, Morgan supposed. There was no post for them, Rink said. The only whalers who’d called had all been going home. Morgan was glad. There was rarely anything good for any of them in any letter they received. Nor was there any word of the missing ships.
There was a cameo of a young woman on a stand on the mantel, that resembled the sister strangely. My wife, Rink said. She had shipped from Copenhagen at the end of May to come out, he said.
On what ship? Myer asked. The name of the ship meant nothing. Very quickly, Morgan counted up the weeks.
I expect her any day now, Rink said.
There were dirty faces at
the window, looking in. Rink shouted at them, but they would not go away. They were shouting back at him, the words incomprehensible. Rink turned to the officers and shrugged. One of the native women was in labour, he said. Apparently it was not going very well. In the end DeHaven agreed to go and the others followed, all but Morgan, who said he had no stomach for that kind of thing.
He stood in the doorway of her parlour, at the back of the house. Her hair was in a long plait, right to her waist. The thing looked like it was carved from a soft white wood.
I thought you might offer me a cup of coffee, he said.
Disdainfully, she dropped her knitting-needles onto her lap.
Is he gone? she said. Have we time to row out and cast off?
We can cast off, or we can have a cup of coffee. One or the other. There’s not time for both.
It’s a long time, I suppose, since you’ve seen a proper set of china, she said.
Unchipped?
Unchipped.
It is.
He waited for her to bring it to him. He heard her close the kitchen door. He’d let his hand settle on the back of her armchair. Now he fanned his fingers over the cloth, that still bore something of her shape. He brushed his hand back and forth, as though to smooth the fabric down. The cloth was worn shiny, and warm. A thousand winter evenings she’d been sitting there, waiting. He stepped around to the front of the chair and lowered himself to his knees. He looked up, to check there was no direct line of sight into the room. There was not. There was time. He would hear her coming out of the kitchen, and back along the corridor. A desperate glance again at the door. Then, with great formality, he bowed his face to the seat of the chair. He did not lift it up again. He was breathing deeply, with great relief. From the moment he stepped into the house, he’d been wading through her perfume. Now, with every deep breath, he was sifting through the layers beneath. Beyond the hint of powder, polite but righteous, and beyond the slightly charred smell of cloth, and the manly smell of soap. He was searching beyond flesh and even sweat, for something more earthy, beyond the animal – something more than the merely uncivilized.
I wouldn’t even like to describe what it is I’ve been drinking these past few weeks, he told her, as she handed him the cup. What that Frenchman does to it, I don’t know and I don’t want to know.
She caught him glancing at the cold grate.
A waste of coal he says. I occasionally get a little sun here in the afternoon. There now. You see.
They stood together in the narrow square of sunlight, listened to the petty quarrelling outside. She called the children to come and sing him the latest song she’d taught them. It was in Danish.
I didn’t know your brother was married, Morgan said.
He’s not.
Who is she then, the picture?
Some poor girl with pretensions. It was arranged. To keep him here. To let me go home.
It was a definite arrangement?
In his mind, yes.
And in hers?
Who’s to know? Since the whole thing started he’s had one short letter, though he himself wrote quite a few. Or rather, I did, on his behalf. She never answered.
An uncomplicated courtship.
The best kind, they say.
They say, Morgan said.
If you ask me, she has no intention of coming, she said. The one letter was last summer, when she wrote and promised to come, and never appeared.
This year too, for the past two months, Rink had been waiting for her ship. But the days were filing past patiently, politely, and he no longer took his walks on the high ground, to stare offshore.
You must have been in a rush, Morgan said.
He was looking at her chest. Her tunic had some two dozen buttons, solid little balls of bone. She’d slipped the right button but one into the bottom eye, and worked her mistake all the way up. With both hands he reached across the open space between them, took the thick thread of the eye between finger and thumb, and popped the first button out. The cloth was thick, held its shape well, and even with the second button free he could see no more of her neck.
He pressed the top button into the top eye. It was a nice, tight fit. One by one, he began to undo and redo every button on her tunic, in the right order, lining them up the way they ought to be.
You’ll be an expert by the time you get to the bottom, she said.
He was almost halfway down. The fit was snug, and he could feel the warmth against his hands.
Maybe I’m an expert already, he said.
In any case, you’re doing quite well. I’m impressed. I would have thought sailors a little less . . . habile.
Sailor?
Seaman?
He shook his head. Seaman was even worse.
I’ve offended you? she said.
Greatly.
Can you ever forgive me?
He was not sure if he could. He would consider the matter. He returned to his work.
We must have caught you unawares, he said. And here’s me thinking you’d be on the lookout for us, night and day.
I admit, I didn’t expect you back so soon.
Yet here we are, Morgan said.
They’ve found them, and are now returning home to glory. That’s what I said to myself as soon as I saw you round the cape. They’ve found the missing ships.
Alas, no.
They drank their coffee, calmly held each other’s gaze. She asked him about The Pack, the efforts and obstacles, the accident, the return. She knew better than to ask if they now intended to go home. She knew well they wanted to start all over again.
Do you realize how many square miles it is, that we must search? he said.
I said nothing, she said. She looked at him curiously. He was harassing himself.
Get out the map, Morgan said. Even the best of them are half blank. Land or sea or ice, what’s up there no one knows.
With a reckless flourish she drained her cup to the last drop. They were in the kitchen together, she was rinsing the cups, when the others arrived.
DeHaven ambushed him alone in the hall. Did she ask to come with us? he asked. The words were a hiss.
No, Morgan said. Saying it, he felt a rush of relief, and a rush of dismay. He was at DeHaven’s mercy now, until DeHaven told him what he’d heard from her brother.
6th July
They began to refit the rudder as best they could, and to take on whatever they could find in the way of stores. Rink signed the bills without reading them, DeHaven looked at the worst of the natives, and that Sunday MacDonald held a service for the whole island in the tiny wooden church.
Afterwards, Rink set up a table of food for the officers, in front of the house. They stood and stared at the view, the ship. Myer had volunteered to take the watch alone, so that everyone else could attend.
In his arms, DeHaven held the infant he’d delivered – saved – the day they’d arrived, who now bore doctor’s name. As though to celebrate, DeHaven had been drinking. On his head
was Rink’s hat, and now every time he opened his mouth, it was the governor’s buckled English that emerged. He pointed his chin at the sailors down by the shore.
See these men! he ordered Morgan. I turn my back three minutes, they are pulling her off with her hair!
Down by the shore, the sailors were haggling and clowning with the native girls.
Not enough you are taking our furs, our dogs, our meat, DeHaven told Morgan, you want all the lock, stock and caboodle. So here – And he thrust the bundle straight at him, forcing him to fall in with the joke, quick, before he let go.
In Morgan’s arms, right away, the thing began to squirm. Kitty studied him with a sour look. DeHaven, too, stood back to admire. Already he was sporting a lavish grin.
Richard, she said, but Morgan didn’t answer.
A very pretty picture, if I may say so. This was Brooks, determined to enjoy the scene. I believe one of your plates, Doctor, might capture the moment.
Kitty took a step closer, peered into the bundle, offered it a finger. The eyes were screwed tight, with what looked like tremendous effort.
Fifty yards away, the sailors were chasing the girls into the sea. By now there was pushing, shoving, screams. The water was too much of a temptation. Morgan was watching them in silence, one in particular, and it wasn’t long before she went in.
Elle n’aura pas résisté longtemps, DeHaven said. She didn’t put up much of a fight.
Morgan was listening, nodding at whatever was said, but his eyes were still on the girl down at the water’s edge. There she stood, arms wide, twirling, pagan. Under her shrivelled clothes, everything looked perfect. Everywhere you looked, something was straining to break out.
Can’t you do something, Doctor? Kitty said. I’m afraid the poor girl will catch cold.
I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly interfere with a sailor’s entertainment, DeHaven said. He nodded at Morgan. Apparently it’s an unwritten rule. There seem to be so many of them. Of course not being a Navy man myself, on these matters I must defer to a higher authority.
