The Disenchanted Soldier

by Vicky Adin

  “Hello, Joe.”

  Joe finished filling his pipe as he eyed Daniel up and down.

  Daniel tried to visualise what Joe was seeing – a young man of slight build, a little taller than average, certainly several inches taller than Joe, with a strong face and large, square hands. He hoped Joe liked what he saw.

  Sucking on his pipe to make it draw, Joe asked, “How are you this bright morn, lad?”

  “Watching those kids reminded me of my young days and got me thinking about me ma,” replied Daniel, as he ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair.

  “Good thoughts or bad?”

  “A bit of a mixture,” Daniel shrugged.

  “You got any other family?” asked Joe.

  “A sister, who lives with an aunt and uncle and does a little teaching – and a stepfather who couldn’t wait to be rid o’ me.” Daniel sighed, his blue eyes fixed on the horizon as he leant against the rail.

  “You started to tell me about your army service afore but we never finished the conversation,” Joe prompted, and Daniel was grateful he’d led the conversation away from those unhappy memories.

  “Yeah, I was with the 12th Lancers for a while.”

  “I could tell you were military of some sort. Drilled into you.”

  Daniel leaned back against the rails so he could see Joe better. “I quite enjoyed it in some ways, especially the horses.” He smiled at the memory. “The drill sergeants were tough blighters, though. We were all puffing and panting by the time they’d finished. Always doing some sort of drill: rifle drill, marching drill, riding skills, repairing lances, grooming our horses, cleaning our uniforms, kitchen duties – whatever they could dream up to keep us busy. Physical training camp they called it. Bloody hard work more like. Me and some mates took some time out and, well, we got ourselves into a bit of strife.”

  Joe’s dark brown eyes sparkled with laughter. “Why does that not surprise me? What happened?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Got drunk one night and missed curfew. Was hauled up before the officers and got punishment drill: double time with full packs twice a day and our booze ration cut for the next week.” He grinned as he admitted his misdemeanours.

  “So, what happened that you’re on this boat and not wi’ your regiment?” Joe asked between draws on his pipe.

  “Couldn’t keep us down, could they. Once we were off punishment we went out and got drunk again. That’s one thing I can say about my stepdad; he bought my discharge, so I got out clean. I suppose I shouldn’t complain about him too much. He were good to Ma, but we never got on. Winter by name and winter by nature. After my last bit o’ trouble, he told me to clear off and not come back.”

  Joe, his face weather-beaten and bronzed by the sun, stroked his beard. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for yer or take yer fer a fool fer being stupid, but it’s a good story. In my younger days, I were a bit of a rebel so’s I can understand what could drive a boy like you.”

  “Yeah? Anyway, I’m away from it all now. I read somewhere a parcel of land’s promised for every man who fights the Maoris. So I thought, why not? What have I got to lose? Maybe my destiny is on the land.”

  “Perhaps it is, my boy. It’s a new country, there for the taking, and opportunities aplenty for them with a bit o’ nous and willing to work. Me, I got a little farm with an inn and store, about half a day’s ride south of Auckland. Real handy these days, as there’s lots of traffic, what wi’ the war an’ all.”

  “That sounds grand, Joe. Bit of a business man, I see.”

  A voice carried to them. “Come along, children; time for your morning lessons.”

  Daniel turned his head and saw the parson and some of the mothers trying to round up some youngsters. He smiled. “Ma always insisted on us doing our lessons since she’d had none herself. Almost too insistent sometimes, but she had promised my da, she’d said, so I’d better get used to it.”

  Joe drew on his pipe and puffed away a few times before answering. “Learning is important, lad. Don’t ever wish that away.”

  “I don’t,” he agreed.

  Daniel’s thoughts drifted to the evenings when his ma would light the lamps and make a pot of tea. They would sit around the kitchen table listening to stories about the big house and the people who came to visit. He remembered her laughter, the stories she told about his father and what little she knew of his grandfather. He found it strange she would never talk about her own family. Never mind how much prompting he and Lizzie gave her, ‘No,’ she would say, ‘there’s nothing to tell. I left home so young, younger than our Lizzie here, that I know nothing about what happened to them.’ Her side of the family was now lost forever.

  “I hear tell there are over a hundred passengers on board,” Daniel said, abruptly changing the subject.

  If Joe was surprised he didn’t show it. “Probably right. Standard for this sort of tub. There’ll be around twenty up there in first class,” he said, pointing to the deck above with his pipe. “Another dozen in second class, and the rest, like us, ’ll be in steerage.”

  “One day I want to be up there in first class. I bet it’s posh.”

  Joe was more pragmatic. “Maybe so, but they’ll get there the same time as we do. An’ they have to put up with the same sort of weather, an’ the fresh food don’t last no longer neither. So it don’t make no difference.”

  Joe knocked his pipe out on the rail, put it in his pocket and pulled out his harmonica. “Time for a song or two now, I think.”

  His roughened, work-worn hands wrapped themselves around the instrument. As he did a few quick trills up and down, a group formed around him, some sitting on barrels, some on the deck, wherever they could perch. Daniel, who loved to sing, happily joined in and sat cross-legged on the deck. The rest of the morning was spent in idle chatter and singing songs. Daniel’s melancholic thoughts were swept from his mind by the companionship around him. There would be plenty of time to think about his past – and his future – later.

  * * *

  On the first Sunday of the journey the passengers gathered on deck for prayers. It would become a regular event and the time when Captain Dalison, standing high above them looking resplendent in his uniform with its braids and buttons, would give them news of the week.

  The news was not good: during that first week a man named Copeland had died of consumption. Daniel watched as the sailors made preparations for the burial, some sewing the body into sailcloth, others setting up a plank. They fixed one end across the rail and balanced the other end on a barrel, lashing it into place until needed. In the late afternoon the passengers and crew gathered to lay him to rest. The sailors lined up on either side of the body, the grieving widow and her children stood at a respectable distance behind the barrel. The other passengers gathered in loose groups where they could, heads bowed, while the parson read from the Bible. With the final blessing, two sailors stepped forward and unlashed the ropes. They pushed the plank further over the rail, lifting the end so the body could slide into the water below.

  His bereaved wife gasped, and clutched her two young children to her in an effort to contain her grief. The whole process took no more than a quarter hour.

  A few of the women stepped forward to comfort her and help her below again. The remaining passengers moved respectfully to one side before disbanding to talk quietly in groups, the event having left their spirits dampened.

  Daniel joined Joe at the rail. “I didn’t know sailors were so religious.”

  Joe started to fill his pipe, tamping down the tobacco. “They’re not. Superstitious more like. Did you notice the sailor who stitched up the body putting the last stitch through the nose?”

  “No. Why?” Daniel was shocked.

  Joe winked. “To make sure the person is really dead, o’ course. It’s been known for the person to be woken from the dead, so to speak, by doing that. It’s become a ritual amongst some sailors now, like, to make sure first. Once the body be dead, they want to make sure hi
s spirit goes to rest and not come back to haunt the ship, so they do a proper service.”

  A week passed. The Helvellyn continued its journey south towards the Bay of Biscay, a wide concave sweep of water that stretched around the western coast of France and along the northern coast of Spain. Between this land mass and the inconsistent prevailing westerly winds sweeping in from the Atlantic, ships had a long, 300-mile lee shore to negotiate. Unbeknown to the passengers, the Bay was known as a treacherous piece of water that could easily becalm a ship, leaving it stranded, or else force it to seek shelter, delaying the passage by days. This information the captain withheld in the hope that the passage would be without incident – as it turned out to be.

  Time passed slowly, especially for the men. Frequent arguments broke out over not a lot. A game of cards or two-up would often end in a fight sooner or later. Nothing serious, and no one ended up in the brig, but enough to unsettle the day. The monotony was broken for short periods by sights the passengers had never dreamed possible. Adult and child alike were in awe of their first sightings of albatross or dolphins, or shoals of flying fish that leapt from the water and seemingly flew through the air.

  Another month passed. The monotony of the journey was not broken again until the ship crossed the equator. The children were excited and enthusiastic, but for the adults, knowing the journey was a quarter over was more important. Nevertheless, the entertainment was contagious, and soon everyone joined in the fun and hilarity.

  “What’s this all about, Joe?” Daniel watched as some of the sailors came out dressed up in fancy dress: dried mops for hairdos, one with a trident in one hand, others with cloth slashed into strips wrapped around their waists.

  “I told you sailors were a superstitious lot. Neptune is the old god of the sea and is always looking out for greenhorns – them as don’t know his ways, not having passed this way before. He has to be welcomed aboard. So you either have to do a forfeit or make payment – alcohol is a good one. Real good.” Joe nudged Daniel and pointed to an officer standing by the rum barrel.

  Daniel nodded. “Wonder how we can get a cup or two without paying any forfeit,” he asked. “What happens next?”

  “It’s called a ‘world turned upside down’ as we pass from the north to the south. For a short while power goes to the underdogs. The captain there, he has to hand authority over to Neptune during the ceremony. Usually it’s the oldest or most experienced sailor what has the honour of being Neptune. He’s got to be respected by his mates, mind you, an’ know his stuff. New hands will be ‘tried’ in a mock court ...” Joe demonstrated the quotation marks with his fingers, “... insulted and humiliated, and then sentenced.”

  Daniel laughed. “I’m not sure I want to know, but go on, tell me. What happens?”

  “Gettin’ shaved by Neptune’s barber is one of the sentences. Not pleasant, I can tell ye,” Joe said, shaking his head. “The shaving ‘cream’ is a mixture of tar and oil and, if they don’t like the fellow, chicken shit too. Another sentence is the ducking stool.” Joe pointed to the rigging. “They swing a stool from the yardarm over there, tie the fellow on it and duck him in the ocean. The more duckings he can take, the louder he can boast after, but he earns the respect of the old salts. Officers can avoid the ducking stool by paying the forfeit to the sailors in alcohol. Makes for a merry old time, I can tell ye.”

  Daniel watched the escapades from a distance. He had no desire to be ducked. The mock court was held and sentences passed. Great hilarity prevailed. Laughter and curses in equal measure could be heard, despite the sailors being hard on their own.

  They were kinder to the passengers, and much gentler with the children – their ‘punishment’ was to try to catch apples floating in water barrels without using their hands.

  For the men there was a contest of who could knock the other person off the slippery pole first.

  Daniel joined in about the time the rum and ale was generously passed around and more food rations given out. From out of nowhere a band was put together with a fiddle, harmonica, some spoons and an upturned barrel for a drum. Everyone partied, danced and sang, kissed and hugged, and drank until they fell asleep where they were – Daniel included, lying slumped against the ropes controlling the sails, taking him to a life he could never have dreamed of.

  * * *

  From then on the days melded into one seemingly endless day broken only by long, restless nights. Joe and Daniel would sometimes talk with the doctor as he kept a wary eye on his charges.

  “If no infectious disease breaks out,” Dr Asham explained, “we won’t be quarantined – something to avoid if at all possible. It’s much better if I can keep everyone healthy. Pity about the man we lost early in the voyage, though.” He rubbed his chin as if in deep thought. “But I couldn’t help him. He’d begun the journey with consumption, hoping that the fresh air would help and he would live long enough to set up a new life for his family. But it was not to be. Now I’ve another death. Mister Thomas Finn, another who was already ill when he boarded, died this morning. He’ll be buried tomorrow.” The doctor shook his head.

  “So how are the rations holding up, doc?” Joe eyed him warily, wondering if such a direct question would raise his ire, but the doctor seemed proud to tell him.

  “I’ve been checking them on a daily basis, and there’s still plenty of tea and hard biscuits and some butter and cheese remaining. I’ll release the dried peas and rice soon. It should make a good soup with some prunes and raisins added. There’s always salt pork and other meats stored in the barrels strapped below decks but little in the way of fresh food now, I’m sorry to say. Most of what we had was either eaten at the Neptune celebrations or has gone off. It was most unfortunate that were forced to ditch some of it overboard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am to join the captain for lunch.” He raised his hat to the two men and strode off purposefully.

  Days later a passing ship was of great interest. Joe and Daniel were among the people crowded against the rails watching its approach and waving as it came closer.

  “They’ll be out wi’ the flags soon.” Joe shielded his eyes from the bright sun.

  “What’re they for?” asked Daniel.

  “Sending messages, boy. We won’t be able to get close enough to talk to them so if they can hold the boats long enough, the captain will use the flags. Tell them about the weather we’ve been through so’s they know what to expect. He might tell them about the two burials, so as the folk back home will know and the officials can keep the records.”

  “What a magnificent sight these ships make when in full sail.” Daniel listened as the ship creaked and groaned, ‘talking’ to them as it came round into the wind to shorten sail and hove to.

  “That they do, son. That they do.” Joe watched as the northbound ship approached.

  The first mate barked orders to the bosun. Deck hands scrambled up the mast to alter the sails and the slackened ropes were coiled below. Before long, Daniel could see a lone figure on the bow, signalling. The rapid movements fascinated him but all too soon the ship sailed by, and the Helvellyn continued its journey under an endless blue sky on an endless blue sea. The vastness of the ocean could be frightening to those used to solid walls around them and solid earth underfoot, but not to Daniel. He was exhilarated by the power of nature.

  Boredom was uppermost in the passengers’ minds, and people sought whatever small distraction they could. Daniel enjoyed watching people. He sometimes caught a glimpse of the cabin passengers on the upper deck, taking a stroll: the ladies with their parasols up to protect themselves from the harsh sun; the men, overdressed given the summer weather, stood about in groups talking and smoking.

  One day, Daniel saw a young lady set up her easel to paint the scene before her. He watched the young men crowd around her, vying with one another for her attention, not that she seemed attracted to any of them.

  In steerage, space was cramped with foul, stale air, and the fresh water allocated for drinking ea
ch day was severely rationed. What was left over could be used for washing, but there was never enough. The smell of stale bodies added to the trials caused by the oppressive heat, but so far, at least, the passengers remained healthy enough.

  Daniel preferred to spend most of his time on deck, finding it far too hot below. The nights were almost unbearable. He liked to look up into the night sky and study the myriad of stars, or watch the phosphorescent light displays as the bow split the waves. One night the clouds obliterated his view of both and made him restless. He longed for something he couldn’t name. The captain told them the land to their port side was called the Cape of Good Hope, and he hoped it would live up to its name, but it was not to be.

  In the early hours of an October morning a powerful storm struck without warning soon after they had rounded the cape at latitude 44 degrees south. Daniel and the others were soon wishing for the calm, sunny weather they had found so monotonous. They soon learnt there was nothing quite so terrifying as being below in a storm.

  The passengers in steerage bore the brunt of the bad weather. The hatches were battened down in a futile attempt to keep the crashing waters out. Soaked through and tossed from side to side in the dark, fetid air, there was no let-up in their misery as children wailed and whimpered, adding to the tension. Fear built up like a living beast, spreading its curse as it grew.

  Hour upon hour the passengers hung on to whatever they could to keep their balance, not knowing from one minute to the next which way the ship was going to move. Would it pitch up and down or roll from side to side? At times they thought it would tip over. At other times, anything loose sloshed along the deck to gather in a heap at one end, including anyone who had lost their grip at the moment when the ship rose to face the gigantic waves and crashed down again on the other side. Screams and curses rent the air, but there was little conversation. People preferred to fight their fears in silence.

  Mothers, clutching their children, huddled on every available bunk, desperate in their attempts to calm their terrified youngsters. Many were seasick, which added to the putrid detritus washing back and forth along the deck. Yet, in amongst the mayhem, miracles still happened: a baby girl was born as the storm abated.