by James Hanley
A voice called from the front of the line: 'Well, we're doing it, so I reckon there's nothing to worry about.'
' 'Cept the stink,' Williams shouted back towards the bosun.
Above, Dunford heard all this. He leaned over the rail listening.
'Ah! Beggar the goddam lot on 'em, that's what I say.'
'Williams,' called up Mr. Tyrer, 'you show these fellers how to get them doors opened quick as winking. I'm after you. And less gab out of you fellers in front there. It's the middle of the night and some folks are sleeping I reckon, even though we can't.'
He hoped he had shouted loud enough for those on the bridge to hear. He still felt a little nettled at the way Mr. Dunford had shouted into his ear. Him a bosun, too. It didn't call for it. He never shouted at no man. Course those fellers on top they were always irritable. That was having responsibilities. Thank Christ he hadn't ever bothered about going in for his ticket. He went near the bulwarks and spat contemptuously over the side. Then he caught up with the men who had just passed into the alleyway aft.
'All set there, you fellers?' he called out.
'Sure. All set, Bosun. How you feeling, yourself?'
Mr. Tyrer knew that voice so he did not answer.
'Right, then down you get,' and he followed after them. Clumsily they descended the ladder in the darkness.
'Isn't half dark in this stink-hole,' a man called back, not loudly, but in a kind of awed whisper. 'Isn't half dark in this hole.'
'How in hell they reckon we can get doors open in pitch dark?'
'Same's you done before,' Mr. Tyrer called down. He almost slipped off the ladder. He went down holding his nose with one hand.
'Disgraceful,' he thought, and shouted quickly, 'You fellers holding your noses, there?'
'We got to get a light of some kind,' a voice called to him.
'And you'll get no goddam light, I tell you. Feel with your hands. Besides, once you get them doors swung back you'll get a sort of light from outside. You can easily see them bundles. I reckon it were best if half a dozen of you went through to C deck and picked up anything handy for the job. It's a good hour's work here, I think.'
Nobody answered him. He had reached the 'tween-decks. The men were standing in a group, they seemed to be conferring with each other. Mr. Tyrer went up to them, pushed hard.
'I know it's tough,' he said, 'but you got to do it. It's the orders. Things might be worse, fellers. I know how you feel about it. But just you think again, think what them glassbacks had to go through afore Walters decided to be real human and get 'em up above. And don't forget, either, it's the last time you feller's'll have to come down here. I'll be glad myself, glad to get this ship back into shape again, looking like a man's ship 'stead of a mixture of looney asylum and mortuary. Now, you lads, get them bundles over here. That's it. Pile 'em near here, see.' He pointed with his foot, though they could not see anything.
'We got to wait till one of those chaps comes down from the bridge. You know, fellers, best thing about being a sailor, an ordinary sailor, is you just got to do what you're told and no more'n that. See? Responsibility is theirs. Just think, chaps, what those men on top there got to do when we reach port. Filling up papers and answering questions and making reports here there and everywhere, yet us common sailors we just packs our bags and goes ashore and home to the missus. I bin on ships like these in the Boer War and I mind one skipper after a long and trying trip, he had to anchor in the river when he got home and she was five weeks in that river, then she went into dock and even then he didn't get home. Not for a whole week after that. So you see, fellers, how fortunate we are. No responsibilities. No nothing. Just do your job and keep your mouth shut. Ssh! I think I hear somebody coming now. 'Spect it's Ericson or Mr. Deveney. There's a real old timer for you, been in all kinds of ships and done all kinds of things, queer things too, and seen a few as well, but he never says nothing. No, sir, Quiet as a little mouse. You wonder sometimes what's at the back of their heads. Might as well ask the bloody moon. Yes, it is somebody. Get going. Do something. Show you're interested, anyhow. Lord! Such a stink. Such a mess. You what? What are you trying to say, you there in the far corner?'
'Nothing, 'cept this goddam door won't open properly. Maybe you best come along here, Bosun. You got to get these doors right back and lashed proper case they swing back on you when you're not looking. Anyhow, this one won't budge. Reckon it hasn't been opened since they built her.'
But when Mr. Deveney arrived everybody lapsed into silence. They heard him conferring with Mr. Tyrer, then the officer raised his voice. They heard everything. The second heavy steel door was already swinging back, there was a clanking sound of chains. Now they understood. And suddenly everybody was silent again, the man's whispering ceased. Mr. Tyrer's and Mr. Deveney's conversation came to an abrupt end. Everything was plain, was clear now. A.10 engines had stopped. The ship was hove to. And out through the door they heard the sound of water, rushing waters.
'So that's how it is,' thought Vesuvius, and he leaned upon another man's shoulders and whispered excitedly. 'See! They're going to bury the lot. The whole blinkin' lot. They've stopped her. Where's my mate, Williams? Damn it, you can't see your finger in front of you here.'
There was a sudden rush of cold air and the groups standing near moved farther back into the 'tween-decks. Another door was swinging open now. But again there was a call from the man standing by the bulkhead door gone suddenly foul, and which would not budge an inch. 'All right,' Tyrer said. 'All right, I'm Coming.'
Six men including the bosun pulled with all their strength upon the door. But it would not budge an inch. And then Mr. Deveney said, 'Stand by.' He went right to the open door, gripped it at the top, and, bending out, looked up into the night air. And the astonished men heard him call up.
'All standing by, Mr. Dunford. All set, sir.'
Mr. Deveney stood silhouetted against the door for a moment or two, then he called out, 'Stand by, you men. Stand by, you men.'
He was stood there and he was no longer alone. He had made his decision. After the fevered hour, the sudden stillness and the thoughts cooled. He was stood there and Mr. Pearson and Mr. Travers were to his right. Mr. Ericson, Mr. Walters and Mr. Hump to his left. Below on the main deck other groups were gathered. Stood silent. A.10 was stopped, was rooted in that patch of water, whose surface carried a kind of oily sheen, discernible even in that darkness. Low-lying clouds above, ragged as before, a few stars, and the vast expanse of sky hooding everything. The air still so that even Mr. Pearson's quick breathing was heard by Dunford. No man was alone in this hour. He knew that, as he knew of the dark company below. The act finished, the blood there heavy with surrender. Desolation ceased. No longer tied to things. Free. He held the book there, and the hand was a white patch in the darkness. An open page rippled to a slight breeze, and a raindrop splashed there. He flicked it from the page with his little finger. Rain threatening, and the once stifling air disturbed by the welcome breeze. To right and left the others were standing. They were stood still there and he was no longer alone.
There were murmurings now, they came up from below where the men were standing by. Yes, but that was in another hour, in the frenzy and fret of the sullen places. He had heard murmurings, many of them, and he understood them, and now he had set his mind upon the thing. This was the thing. The ship silent and men gathered together in darkness, above and below, and he had taken the open book from his tiger's hand. The hand holding this trembled a little, but that was only because a voice below called up to him. From below where the canvas bundles lay, and their brothers in humbleness stood by waiting for the word. He heard Mr. Pearson cough. He who had raged and stamped his protest upon the bridge. It was like solid rock beneath Dunford's feet now. At any moment they would hear the dull thudding, dull splashing sounds.
Mr. Deveney was calling up in the night air.
'Standing by and all ready, sir.'
Mr. Pearson coughed again.
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p; And at the far end of the well-deck, unseen by all, stood the fo'c'sle peggy. He stood facing the bridge and he knew what it was all about. Once he had seen those big canvas bundles, and others in sacks, weighted, piled in dark corners.
Suddenly Mr. Dunford was speaking, was droning words in air, whilst the soft breeze ruffled the pages he could not read. But he knew the words, and he spoke them, slowly, very distinctly. Then a silence again and all were waiting. Above and below. There were sudden whisperings, faint murmurings. Men looked out over the waters, and the first splash was heard.
Even Rochdale standing in the nest had turned, facing the bridge, one with the others – gathered below, the secret assembly and the dark company, that moved as one body to the rails now. And they were looking down when the second splash came. And the third and fourth. And they counted them. The fifth and sixth. No man spoke. No man looked at his fellow though their thoughts were as one, fettered to this hour. To the sea burial. To the bundles passing from one darkness to another darkness. To the bundles catapulting towards the waters. The low murmuring below poured through the 'tween-decks, and from the height where Dunford stood, sounding, seeming, sepulchral.
He drew away from the others, gripped the rail, leaned well over.
'Mr. Deveney.'
His voice came hollow and strange to the man below.
'Mr. Deveney,' he was calling again.
The whispering sounds below ceased. Men stood about looking at each other, wondering at the pause, the break in the task.
Mr. Deveney leaned out from the bulkhead door and called up quietly, 'Sir.'
'How many is that, Mr. Deveney?' Dunford was speaking through a megaphone now and his voice sounded unreal, a mechanical voice.
'Seven, sir. There are many more yet, Mr. Dunford.'
Yes. But he already knew that. He called down then. 'Wait,' he said.
He turned to Mr. Ericson. 'I am going below.'
Mr. Pearson moved aside to let him pass. And as Dunford went away the engineer looked him full in the face.
When he had gone Mr. Pearson stepped over to Travers and spoke to him in a low voice.
'Did you notice anything about him, Travers?' he asked.
'About who?' the other enquired.
'Why, Mr. Dunford of course,' replied Mr. Pearson. 'I thought you would, standing right beside him as you were. I did. I thought that he looked . . . '
'Ssh!' a voice said. 'Ssh!'
Mr. Pearson wondered who on earth could have made that sound. That voice that seemed to come from nowhere, and now repeatedly said, 'Ssh! Ssh!'
Mr. Pearson turned away then and went and stood looking over the rail. He was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable; what was happening below there, and why had Captain Dunford held up everything by suddenly deciding to go below? And more important still, his stomach was beginning to protest.
Mr. Pearson, much worried about this, was half inclined to turn away, go below and rest in his bunk. But this was unthinkable, and he must stand there and put up with his rebellious stomach.
Mr. Ericson, as though he had suddenly divined the engineer's discomfort, spoke to him. They leaned over the rails, heads almost touching, and Ericson asked if anything was wrong.
Pearson replied promptly 'No, Mr. Ericson. Nothing at all.'
'I thought there was, watching you fidget about, and I know how you suffer with your stomach, Mr. Pearson,' went on the young officer.
'Don't I tell you it's nothing, nothing at all,' whispered Mr. Pearson fiercely in the other's face. His voice was sour, angry.
Captain Dunford was standing by the bulkhead doors below. He was speaking under his breath to Mr. Deveney.
'How long d'you suppose it will take these men to clear the hold, Mr. Deveney?'
And in matter-of-fact tones, the other replied: 'About an hour, sir.'
'I see! You're sure C deck is empty? No men lying about anywhere? I want this matter carried out in a proper manner.'
There was something of doubt in Dunford's tone of voice.
But calmly, never raising his voice once, Mr. Deveney informed him that the men had already been in C deck three days ago, had removed all the bodies to D.
'There they are, sir,' he said, waving his hand towards a pile of canvas and sacking just abaft the open door.
'Yes . . . very well. Continue,' Dunford said.
He withdrew from the door, went far back into the 'tween-decks, and, leaning against an iron stanchion, he watched them. He saw the men drag out one bundle after another, saw them slide it gently on to the hatch-cover that was made fast there and the bundle go swishing down to the sea.
The men knew he was there, but not once did a man speak, look his way.
The bell in the nest rang out, sounding thunderous in the silence. Bundle following bundle.
Ten days ago, – was it ten days ago? – he had stood in this same 'tween-deck and he had thought then what he thought now.
Suddenly he turned on his heel and left the hold, climbing slowly up the ladder and so out into the alleyway, to the cool air. It was like a ghost-ship to him. He listened almost with astonishment to his own footsteps as he walked to the bridge. Returning there he took up his previous position, looked to right and left, others stared back at him.
The dull splashing went on, ceaselessly. Well, soon it would be done with, forgotten about, A.10 would resume her set course, speed home.
But here was the bosun behind him, saying, 'Excuse me, sir,' and Dunford looked round.
'Yes,' he said.
'Mr. Deveney says there are about eleven more bundles, sir, but the men wish to come on top for a few minutes to get the air, sir.'
'Yes. Yes. Oh yes. Tell Mr. Deveney to send them up. That will do, Bosun.'
'Very good, sir.'
Hang it, why hadn't he thought of that? A very necessary thing. Yes, why hadn't he? No. He had been thinking of the task ended, the set course. The speeding home. Home. There was something like magic in that word, sounding it upon the tongue. Home. Set course. Full speed. He picked up the megaphone and called over the side.
'Men up, Mr. Deveney?' but there was no reply.
He assumed they were already up. He turned to Mr. Pearson.
'Do go below, Mr. Pearson. There's no need for you further. I just look at you and I understand.' Dunford even forced a laugh then.
Poor Mr. Pearson and his distressed stomach. Dunford looked round.
On the spur of the moment he said 'Good night' to Mr. Walters, and the chief steward replied, 'Night, sir.'
Then Dunford went off into the wings, was lost from view. He looked over. Men were gathered there. And there were still many bundles. And they were standing there, everybody was standing there, waiting, waiting.
'Mr. Ericson,' he called.
'Yes, sir.'
Then in a whisper, 'Go below and dismiss those men there, Mr. Ericson.'
But suddenly Mr. Deveney was on the bridge, coming over to him.
'I've sent the men down again, Mr. Dunford. It'll be an hour at least before they've finished there, sir. It's a bit difficult below there and . . . '
'Stay here, Mr. Ericson,' Dunford said.
A few yards away Mr. Walters and Mr. Hump were conversing in low tones. And suddenly a conversation started down on the for'ard well-deck. Mr. Dunford heard it too. He looked at Deveney.
'All right, Mr. Deveney, go below again. We must finish this work tonight or not at all.'
He watched the officer depart without another word.
'An hour,' thought Dunford. 'My God! A whole hour of it.'
Well, it must be finished. And those standing here and there, silent or otherwise, they must continue to stand there. Yes, until that last bundle had been cast seawards.
Whilst he stood there – he had put away the book on the little shelf near the fog-signal – another splash was heard, louder than any of the others.
There was silence again. Tongues below ceased to wag.
Mr. Walters and
his second-in-command moved back a little, leaning against one of the boats, covered with dark stains, though they did not notice these.
Mr. Deveney returned below. His job was to stand by, to see that the task was carried through, and he sat down on a box and watched the men moving about in the curious half light that filtered through the great open door. Saw them draw first one bundle and then another, drag those that were heaviest, carrying the lighter ones, and he was struck by a quality in those men. A reverence in their roughness, a gendeness in their strength. Not a word was uttered. Their breathings rose and fell, waves of sound in the stuffy air.
He had not been sitting there very long before he heard his name called from above, and jumping to his feet he leaned out of the door, hanging on to a heavy chain, looked upwards, and he did realize then, for the first time, a something terrifying about that upward look. The tower of steel, the power and weight and height of the ship.
