Robbie Taggart

by Michael Phillips

  Robbie’s mind was not thinking rationally. He could not focus on what was happening. He could not distinguish between the Vicar and what he had bumped into and the delicious air his lungs were frantically trying to fill themselves with. Instinctively his one hand grabbed the floating object while his other beat about around him for Drew.

  “Drew!” he gasped. “Vicar . . . Vicar . . . where are you?”

  Robbie’s foot hit against something soft.

  “Vicar!” cried Robbie.

  He reached down with his free hand. His fingers closed around a shred of clothing. He pulled with all the might left in his weakened arm. In a moment the Vicar’s head broke through the surface.

  “Vicar!” cried Robbie, “hang on . . . take hold of this . . . I’ve found something from the ship . . . grab hold . . .”

  He put Drew’s arms around the floating timber from the Sea Tiger. Gradually Drew began sputtering for air, and as he did so, his limp arms felt the wood and tried to grab it.

  “Hang on to it, Drew . . . hang on!”

  An hour later, Robbie and the Vicar were still alive, still clutching the spar—for it was the mizzen topgallant yard from the Sea Tiger—and still fighting off the bitter cold from the sea. Drew lay with his arms around it like one already dead, and still Robbie was paddling with what strength remained to keep them both afloat.

  Hours seemed to pass. Still the sea did not overwhelm them. Occasionally Robbie wondered about the rest of the crew, whether they were out there clinging for their lives to other pieces of the ship. But he could see nothing, and had scarcely the strength to lift his head even if he could have seen beyond the next wave. The whole world consisted of him and the Vicar and a broken yardarm and the pounding sea.

  He tried to think of their bearings. The Tiger had covered a lot of ground during the storm. Perhaps they were not that far from shore. They had been running parallel to the coast because of the rudder. What about the tides and currents? He had no idea of their direction. But it was all an empty hope! They could not hope to swim one mile in these seas!

  Were they about to die? What would come then? Would he see heaven? But of course that was impossible! He would be one of the damned. What about the Vicar? Would this be their final parting—the Vicar to the place above, and he to the place below?

  Desperate for the sound of a human voice, he tried to speak.

  “Elliot,” he gasped, “Elliot . . . are you afraid?”

  The Vicar merely made a soft gurgling sound, which was as close as his dispirited mind could come to a laugh.

  “I never thought I’d be afraid to die,” Robbie continued, his words labored. “Being afraid frightens me almost . . . almost as much as dying.”

  “A new sensation . . . fear . . . something Robbie Taggart hasn’t known, eh?”

  “I’ve rarely been afraid—until now.”

  “Don’t worry, Robbie—you’ll get used to it.”

  “But what’s going to happen to us? I don’t want to go to hell. I feel I should repent . . . or something, but—”

  Another wave caught him full in the face, and his open mouth took so much water that he could not speak for some time.

  “Repent because you’re dying?” said the Vicar, his passion for discussion undaunted even in the face of death. “That’s the worst possible reason for repentance.”

  “What are the right reasons?”

  “I used to know some . . . can’t think at the moment. Now shut up . . . so I can die in peace.”

  It was just as well. Robbie could talk no more. He couldn’t think straight. Would God have mercy on him even though he hadn’t repented? He didn’t even know what repentance meant.

  It was just so cold . . . he could kick his legs no longer . . . did not even realize it when the seas gradually began to calm. Repentance . . . the Sea Tiger . . . Jamie . . . the face of Benjamin Pike—they all loomed in his mind: words, faces, feelings, memories . . . jumbled into confusion.

  On he floated in waking unconsciousness, no longer even aware of the Vicar, wondering occasionally if he’d drifted off and into the sea and into some peaceful final sleep.

  Only vaguely did Robbie feel the strong hands yanking and pulling at his body. Were they taking him out of the sea to warm him by the fires of hell? Was he dead? There seemed to be a dry surface underneath him, but it continued to rock and undulate like the sea. Was hell nothing more than an continuous experience of the moments of your death?

  Then came the sound of voices floating in the air above him—the voices of angels or demons or some other beings he could not see. They reminded him of the voices of his Highland home—warm and earthy and reassuring. He could understand nothing of what they said. It sounded in his memory like the strange and rhythmic Gaelic tongue spoken by the natives in the hills of his homeland.

  In his exhausted and delirious state, Robbie could not tell that they spoke not the Gaelic of the Scottish Highlands, but indeed a rather similarly melodious dialect of Chinese.

  Part III

  China

  30

  The Mission

  Robbie opened his eyes. All was darkness.

  His first thought was that he must still be unconscious. Then came the terrifying question: Was he in some black afterlife limbo?

  One thing was sure: He was no longer in the icy, turbulent water of the East China Sea. He tried to move; sharp pain rippled through his body. He winced. He must not be dead. Somewhere in the room a fire radiated warmth toward him. Reassured, he closed his eyes again and tried to let the warmth lull him back to sleep.

  All at once the thought of the Vicar came into his hazy mind.

  “Drew . . . Drew!” he tried to call out, but his voice could only manage a whisper. He tried to sit up, ignoring the pain coursing through his body. But he could not. And even as he fell back down, a gentle hand reached out and touched his shoulder.

  “Shhh,” said a soft voice. “Your friend is alive.”

  It was a tender, musical voice, at once grave and yet joyful, but very hushed as if it were part of the night and had itself come out of the warm glowing fire. “You must rest.”

  Robbie struggled where he lay to find the face that went with such a voice, but the room was very dark and his eyes extremely heavy. He had no inclination to argue. He had no idea where he was nor what had become of him, but he felt oddly secure. The Vicar was safe, they were both apparently alive, and all other questions seemed to dissolve for the moment. He lay back and let the peace of the darkness, the warm fire, and the invisible ministering angel surround him again.

  Bright light and searing heat woke him several hours later. He was drenched with perspiration, sticky and uncomfortable—and so very thirsty! The vague sense of darkness and peace and a soft voice from the previous night lingered discordantly with these new sensations of wakefulness, and he decided the former must have been a dream. He tried again to pull himself to a sitting position and discovered with the first flexing of his muscles that at least the aches had been no dream.

  “Good morning, Robbie!” came a jaunty, familiar voice.

  Robbie turned in the direction of the sound. “Drew!” he exclaimed, “you old sea dog!”

  “My, but you seem to take the privileges of your position seriously,” said the Vicar, looking worn in the bed beside him, but otherwise none the worse for his recent ordeal. “I thought you were going to sleep away the entire morning!”

  “If this place is a hospital, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

  “No doubt. And I shall overlook it this time, since it seems you swam for two in our recent adventure.”

  Suddenly Drew’s voice lost its familiar flippant quality and turned earnest. “You saved my life, Robbie. At first I didn’t know whether to curse you or thank you. But I’ve decided on the latter. You could have drowned yourself on my account, but you didn’t let go of me. I shall never forget that.”

  Robbie made no reply. A long pause passed between them.
>
  “Where are we?” Robbie asked at last. As he spoke he stretched his neck up so his eyes could sweep in his immediate surroundings. Now first he realized how weak he was, for after a few moments he fell onto his back exhausted. The room he saw was not as small as he had imagined during the night. It was rather quite large, with two rows of beds, three against each wall, of which he and Drew were the only occupants at present. Though very rustic, it was clean and orderly, and he realized it must be a small hospital of some kind, as he had guessed.

  “I don’t know,” said Drew in response to his question. “I’ve seen no one. I just awoke—”

  At that moment the door at the far end of the room opened, followed by the entrance of tall man who, though Occidental in all his features, was dressed in Oriental fashion with a long, black cotton high-collared and loose-fitting trousers to match. He appeared in his mid-fifties, and his thick black hair, combed severely back from his forehead, was amply laced with gray. Not a bulky man, his narrow shoulders and slight frame contrasted sharply with his overall look of gravity. In his hands he carried a tray containing bowls, a teapot, cups and various utensils. He moved into the room with deliberate, measured steps as if even the trivial movements of his body were of worth and not to be wasted.

  “Praise be to the Lord!” he said with quiet intensity, his voice slow and methodical as were his movements. Each word seemed to have been given great consideration before spoken. “God has returned your lives to us. You gave us quite a fright when they brought you in. How thankful we are that you are conscious again.”

  Though the man’s tone conveyed that he was truly thankful, and that the loss of these two strangers would have grieved him deeply, both men—though for entirely different reasons—were put off by his somber religious tone.

  “I am Dr. Wallace—Isaiah Wallace—the director here,” the man added after a brief pause. As he spoke he extended his hand, a small but browned and work-worn one, to each man in turn. When his hand and the Vicar’s clasped, Robbie could not help seeing the comparison—they were both the hands of scholars, who, for whatever, reasons, had been called to physical labor also. He then set the tray on a nearby table and began to arrange things for a meal for his patients.

  “We are indebted to you, Dr. Wallace,” said Robbie, clearing his throat and trying to speak clearly. Whether it was the residue of his hours at sea, or something about this man before him, he had difficulty finding his voice, and felt somehow like a child before his schoolmaster.

  “It is not myself to whom you should be indebted, young man,” replied Wallace, not sternly, but with firm conviction in his tone, “but rather give your thanks to God who brought you out of the water like Moses—the name with which we have dubbed you in lieu of your real one. He was drawn out of the water to new life and new purpose, as I believe the Lord also intends for you. And for Jonah here, also.” As he spoke these final words, he indicated the Vicar, who squirmed under his gaze. “Give your thanks to God who alone is worthy, and who alone can save, both from the sea and from ourselves.”

  For a rare instant in his life, Robbie found himself daunted. He had never met a man quite like this, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He felt as if his gratitude had been thrown back in his face in a pompous and condescending manner. A mere “You’re welcome” would have sufficed, thought Robbie, in place of all this religious gibberish. He did not doubt the man’s depth of sincerity. This was no hypocrite, no weak-kneed buffoon like the churches back home were filled with. But notwithstanding his good intentions, he could have used a little simple tact.

  During the pause that followed, Robbie noted for the first time the outlandish long white gown he was wearing. He looked like an old man in nightclothes!

  “Your own clothes will be returned to you directly,” said Wallace, noting Robbie’s grimace. “They were quite wet.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Robbie, adding, “I’m not very accustomed to hospitals.”

  “That is obvious, young man. I should guess the last, and perhaps the only time you have been in one was when you broke your shoulder—some years back, by the look of it.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I am a doctor, remember.” Wallace motioned toward the table. “If you are up to it. Otherwise, you can take your meal in your beds. You were both very weak. You will need to spend a good while recuperating.”

  Robbie and Drew both stood beside their beds, realizing for the first time how weak their legs, indeed their entire bodies were. Gingerly they walked toward the table and sat down to the simple meal Wallace had set before them.

  “Now,” Wallace continued, “though Moses and Jonah are no mean names to be lightly set aside, I am certain your own would be preferable to you.” Although there was nothing overbearing about the doctor, there was something in the tone of his voice, and in the penetrating gaze of his small, deep-set eyes, that commanded respect.

  “I am Robbie Taggart, and my companion is Elliot Drew,” answered Robbie. “We are of the British clipper, Sea Tiger. We were wrecked by pirates some . . . well, I have no idea how long ago. We went down June the tenth.”

  “Quite incredible,” said Wallace, nodding his head as he drew out the words. “Today is the thirteenth and the fishers found you very early yesterday in the Hangchow Bay. You must have been in the water well over twenty-four hours, perhaps thirty-six. That is nothing short of a miracle. Praise be to God! I see that the pseudonyms you were given are even more apt than I first thought.”

  Wallace paused and seemed to meditate a moment on this insight. When he spoke again, it seemed an effort for him to concentrate on more mundane matters when he would rather focus his attention on deeper things of the spiritual realm.

  “You are now at Christ’s China Mission station in Wukiang, about ninety miles from Shanghai. And, I add with utmost sincerity, you are most welcome here, and may feel free to remain with us as long as you wish. We will do all we can to care for you and speed your bodies back to health.”

  He paused, rose slowly but purposefully from the chair he had taken, and then added, “I will take my leave of you now so you may finish your meal in peace. Please remain in bed for the rest of the day. It may take some time for your strength to be restored. You were quite near exhaustion when they brought you to us. Perhaps this evening, if you would like, we could arrange for a short walk, maybe a tour of the compound.”

  “Thank you very much, Doctor,” said Robbie.

  Wallace made no rebuffing comment to Robbie’s second expression of gratitude. He walked to the door, and there turned to add, “A young lad named Ying Nien will be your attendant. Please feel free to call on him whenever necessary.”

  Alone once more, Robbie and Drew sat in silence for some time, slowly eating their meal, while reflecting on all that had happened and the unexpected turn of their fortunes.

  “A mission!” exclaimed the Vicar at last. “Of all the nasty chance.”

  “I should think you’d feel right at home.”

  “Don’t be cynical, Robbie. That’s my role, remember?”

  A mission was certainly not the most peculiar place Robbie had ever stayed, and he was willing to take the new adventure in stride. But he was not sure he cared for this Wallace, a religious fanatic by all appearances. Drew was apparently thinking along the same lines.

  “You will keep the Vicar business quiet?” said Drew. “I wouldn’t want to cause—ah, any undue awkwardness . . . to the good doctor, of course.”

  “Of course,” replied Robbie, but his voice grew distracted as another personality suddenly entered his mind. Had Pike indeed betrayed them, or was he too a victim? Had his secret meeting with Chou been an attempt to save the Tiger and her crew, or was he merely bargaining for his own skin? No doubt Pike was somewhere in China at this very moment. Alive or dead, who could tell? Whatever the case, Robbie would have to find him. He had to know what had really happened.

  “You’re thinking of the skipper, aren’t you?” said
the Vicar.

  Robbie nodded. “If he did betray us . . .” Robbie’s voice trailed off into thought. Then a moment later he added, “But on the other hand, what if that wasn’t the case? What if he needs our help?”

  “I doubt Chou would keep him alive past his usefulness to him.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Robbie. “Still, the man is our skipper.”

  “Who just may have gotten us into this fix! But vengeance is mine, says the Lord!”

  Robbie merely smiled at another of Drew’s hollow quotes. The sea water did not seem to have affected his memory!

  When they were through, a polite Chinese youth entered and cleared away the dishes. In broken English, he bid them follow the honorable doctor’s orders and return to bed.

  They did so. Robbie slept the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon. When he woke, evening shadows slanted across the room, and the sun had already begun to set beyond the distant mountains to the west. He tried to swing out of bed, and though the motion was slow, he happily noticed that his limbs did not ache nearly so much as they had that morning. He was ready for some fresh air! Then his eyes fell upon his nightshirt. That would never do for a stroll about the mission. What was the name of that nurse? Ying . . . something. Robbie was about to seek him out when he spied his clothes, laundered and neatly folded, lying on the chair by the table where he had eaten breakfast. He dressed quickly, and only as he was about to leave did he notice that the Vicar was gone. Well, thought Robbie, I hope he hasn’t already found passage to Shanghai. I’ll miss the old cynic.

  A gentle breeze met him at the doorway and made him realize for the first time how stuffy the room had been. It was not yet dark, but many stars had already shown their bright faces.

  All at once Robbie was struck with the realization that he was in China . . . alone . . . with nothing but the clothes on his back . . . and with no future. The words of Isaiah Wallace crept into his mind, though he had hardly given them more than a thought when they had first been spoken: