by James Hanley
He pushed the man in front of him. The men quickened their pace. When they reached the poop the engines had already stopped.
'This'll put us back about two hours, I reckon,' one of them said.
'Shut your gob, and get up there.'
'Aye,' thought Mr. Tyrer. 'They may well say it. Two solid hours yesterday putting corpses over and all that dark and the bloody stink. Maybe I say too much to these chaps. Reckon I'll say less in future. Some men wouldn't stand for it, of course. They're a good crowd. Only thing is if this goes on like it does old Walters'll have no bloody booze left for them to drink. Dear me! I remember that young chap well. Nice lad he was. I used to see him early of a morning running down the ladder with piddle-pots and clothes and rolls of bandages. Silly feller, though. Ah, well! We're all made different, I suppose. It can't be helped. It must be done.'
A bell rang. A bell for which he had been listening this past twenty-four hours, and now he no longer heard it. He climbed the ladder after his men.
They were gathered there, round the bundle.
Suddenly Mr. Tyrer stood quite still on the deck, away from the group, stood looking at the wood, the newly caulked deck.
'I have a son his age,' he said to himself. 'Just his age. Well! Well!'
Then he joined the group gathered there, looked at Mr. Ericson.
But he did not know that Mr. Ericson was thinking of Else. Thinking of Else as he stood over the man wrapped in canvas, weighted with firebars that would bind him to the bed of the ocean. Mr. Tyrer thought that Mr. Ericson looked sad today. He called him then.
'All right, Bosun. Get ready.'
'Yes, sir,'
'Take him up, men. Stand by now. Ready, sir,' Mr. Tyrer said.
'Six-seventy-eight miles NW. Fastnet,' one said.
'No?'
'Yes.'
'Tell that to the marines.'
'Six-seventy-eight I tell you.'
'The decks are washed down,' one said.
'The hatches are battened down.'
' 'Tween decks cleaned out and mountains of rubbish there.'
'Doing sixteen and a half now I'll bet my bottom dollar.'
'Shipshape and fancy. In a minute you'll hear all kinds of bells.'
'And they've collected so far, twenty-nine pounds eight shillings and twopence halfpenny for Marvel's missus. Not bad, I reckon.'
'Here's the sun.'
'Have it all to yourself, feller-me-lad.'
'Six-seventy-eight. Ah! You can always tell. Look at the colour of the water. And look at the way Rochdale goes about. That's enough for me and for any man. He can smell Lancashire, that man can.'
'My Judy won't know I'm coming. I'll catch her on the Q.T. That'll be funny, because I had a letter from a feller I know and he told me she's trimming somebody else's wick while you're up the Dardanelles.'
'Less talk there and get them hoses coiled up, you men.'
'But I thought we were going on a cruise to the South Seas. Oh, I am bloody well disappointed.'
'Less talk there, I said.'
'She's spick and span so what the hell. Sixteen-and-half did you say. Lord! I'll be picking up shekels this time on Thursday.'
'Get them hoses for'ard, you.'
'Sir to me, Bosun. I'm a respectable man. When I break wind I don't stand on the weather side like some men do.'
'Get them brushes gathered up, and them holystones. Take everything for'ard.'
'Everything?'
'Yes, everything, you silly bastard. Will I be glad to see your backs, don't ask me? Will I be glad to see your bloody backs?'
'Will you?'
'My backside on the lot of you,' the bosun said. He went for'ard, swearing to himself. Out this minute, in the next. Time was all over the place. Words didn't mean what they meant yesterday. You got mixed up with everything, as if your mind were going round in circles. And that fellow bound fast in how many hundred fathoms? Oh, he didn't know. Work was finished. Men were following after him, talking. Work was finished. Nothing else to do but talk. They went for'ard, the sun upon their backs, slouching, unhurried, their shadows dancing before them on quick drying decks.
The sun shone, poured over A.10, through rooms, through open ports, but not through saloon windows. These were shut. Men talking behind them. Men lying silent there, sprawled, on sides and backs, seated, upright, lying on their bellies, some sleeping, some waking.
Stewards rushed here and there, carrying things, their hands were full, full of charitable things, and they were silent. Moving this way and that and the same look for every one.
Mr. Hump and Mr. Walters bent forward there, a thin back, a stout back, drab clothes, bent over a man.
He was flat, stretched, eyes closed, forehead furrowed by sweat. The steward came. He pressed a towel on the man's face, wiped sweat and dirt, feeling Mr. Walters's breath upon the back of his neck, Mr. Hump humming low in his throat. Wiped sweat from the forehead, but not seeing the forehead, nor thinking of the forehead, only braces dangling and a man under them, and feet dragging the floor, and the spell cast for him. Wiping a sweaty forehead, and no muscle moving there, and the three of them bending lower over this man, foil to rage once, and laurels for others in Byzantium.
'That's seven towels in the past eight hours, sir.'
'God! I don't like the look of this man, Mr. Hump.'
'No. No. I say shut that damn, blasted port, will you? One stands looking at him, but you can't help listening to what fools talk about sometimes.'
'Yes. Close the bloody thing,' Walters said.
'Yes, sir.' He left the towel covering the face. It was dirty now.
'He'll have to go aft with the other four, Mr. Hump,' Mr. Walters said. 'He'll have to go right away. God! I don't like the look of this man. And it's bad for the others, seeing nothing but him, and no bells for them to hear. These poor, mad – oh, hell.'
'If the sun lasts we'll take them out, sir?' Mr. Hump said thicky, clearing his throat at the same time.
He lifted the towel from the face.
'Out, yes, OUT,' Mr. Walters said. 'All out. Sun on their faces, air in their lungs, sky to gaze at, and humming engines in their ears and they'll know she moves, they're still alive, Mr. Hump! We must move this man.'
'The ports were closed, sir.'
'Oh, yes. Open them again then, will you,' Mr. Walters said. 'I said we must get this man aft.'
He began stamping his foot then.
'Yes, of course. I heard what you said, Mr. Walters,' Hump replied.
'Then get aft and make a place ready for him.' He called, 'Crilly, Sloane, Devine, Brown, Noland, Dickson!'
They came running to him.
'Get these men outside. The sun has come.'
The sky is clear, blue, streaked here and there by patches of transparent white cloud, the sky is a great sweeping curve and A.10 is moving towards it. The sea is calm, or a gentle silken swell, its surface sheened by the sun, the sun is everywhere, deluging A.10 from stem to stern, from the eyes of her to the poop.
Blinding Rochdale high in air, and brilliant brass of binnacle and telegraphs burn under the light. Warmth touches men in the fo'c'sle and in rooms, touches silent helmsman and pacing officer, floods alleyways, brightens what was dark, lightens the heavy drab of closed hatch and house. Light catches waves, sinks with them, makes dust of foam. The sun pours everywhere, is hidden from others. These are below. There other suns burn, congealing sweat. Sound, not sun, is emperor there. The bow cleaves water, the iron fish astern measures time and distance.
The clouds move swiftly, so deepening space, and horizon's line catches the fan wise rays of the sun. The officer walks the bridge, his shadow dances, he is clothed in the sun. 'Six-seventy-eight NW. of Fastnet,' he says, then turns about, watching his shadow dance on before him.
Mr. Dunford sleeps, unwise to the sun, hand gripping a pipe, the other caressing his face, deep-lined, browned, the lower lip hanging loose.
Mr. Deveney reads, indifferent to the sun,
his body harbouring like dread, the shivers to come.
Mr. Walters sweats, the fat protests, but he spares nothing now, remembering Marvel, seeing that sweaty face.
Mr. Hump makes ready aft, and Crilly and Devine are there, tending one who cries as though in a dream: 'Lemme go. Lemme go, you sods. Lemme go.'
Mr. Hump was saying to himself, 'He said to come back at once,' He said, 'Understand? At once?' He swore under his breath. As though he didn't understand, as though he were thick, some great galoot just come out of a cave or something. Did Walters think him a bloody fool? Looked like it.
'All right,' he said to Crilly, 'stand back.'
They brought the man in, Mr. Walters following. They laid him in the bunk. Next to the looney one. Next to the fevered one. Before the stewards, Crilly and Devine, Sloane and Brown, Mr. Hump asserted himself. He told himself that he must now, this very minute, or else go under altogether.
'D'you think I'm a fool, Mr. Walters?' he asked.
'There's no time to think whether you're a fool or not,' was the reply. 'You get along back to that saloon, Mr. Hump. Take these men with you. I want those men out in the sun.'
He remained behind. Stood looking down at the soldier. He was propped up by pillows, half seated, half lying, with closed eyes. It was lighter here, Mr. Walters could see that the man's face was much swollen, his forehead glistened with sweat. A light shone down upon him. Mr. Walters didn't know who he was, he was just a soldier, didn't know really whether he was young or old, whether he was one of the original draft, or one of the strangers picked up from the other boats. That didn't matter, anyhow. He was not unconscious of certain sounds above his head, animal-like sounds, but he did not look up. Heavy breathing was near him, and eyes were upon him. But he stood rock-like, looking into one face, this one, sweated, neither young nor old.
The worst of the whole bloody beastly business was others looking on, looking on whilst you tried and failed, whilst you shouted and stamped about, whilst you smiled or frowned. His mind was suddenly full of names and numbers.
'Must check up to-day,' he said. 'Must check up to-day.'
Yes. Hump should have all that information ready for him, ready to his hand. Damn! How long was this going on for anyhow?
Crilly came back with an extra blanket, spread it over the man. He looked up at Mr. Walters. He said nothing, thought nothing. His hands and arms and legs moved, functioned. He had helped to carry the man here, made him comfortable. It meant nothing to him. It was a job. He had done it many times.
'You must stay here with this man, Crilly,' Mr. Walters said. 'I'll see something is sent along to you. You'll be relieved in two hours.'
He went off, leaving the door wide open behind him. He knew the sun would pour in there too. When he went below to his room, Mr. Hump was already there.
'Hello,' he said. 'I didn't know you were down here. Been down long?'
'A few minutes ago,' Hump said. 'I've a bit of a headache.'
'Oh, aye! I should bloody well think you would have. I haven't forgotten your capers and your guzzling in the stores, Mr. Hump. Nor have I forgotten that you left me stranded the other night. The top-hat, of course, is quite another matter. I know where you got it from, and the tails. But I should worry. Your head wasn't exactly built for a topper, Mr. Hump. Haven't they brought tea along yet?'
Mr. Walters stared around the room.
'Haven't seen any signs of it yet,' Hump said.
'Press the bell then,' replied Mr. Walters.
There was something so stuffy and depressing about the room today. He had noticed it first thing this morning when he woke up. And he had been worrying about it all morning. Untidy, dusty, he'd have to get a man on the job. And somehow the bunk didn't seem as comfortable as it used to. He wondered whether that was due to Hump's having slept in it by mistake. He had made a fool of himself that night all right. Tight as a duke, and he knew where he had got the stuff from, too.
'You've got into a habit lately, Mr. Hump, of running your fingers through your hair, and I hate it, fact. Bloody awful habit. And you do it everywhere, over your meals, over others. You ought to pull yourself up a bit, Mr. Hump. It's not exactly nice, is it?'
'Here's the tea now,' said Mr. Hump, closing the conversation at that point.
Mr. Walters moved away as the door opened and a steward came in carrying a tray on which was a sugar-basin and milk jug, small tea-pot and two cups and saucers. He stood holding it.
'All right, man. Put it down anywhere. Here.'
He cleared the desk of papers, pens, hats and cigarettes. 'Here.'
The steward put down the tray and retired as noiselessly as he had come.
'I don't want any damned tea,' said Mr. Hump as he struggled into a greasy white jacket, the cleanest he had at the moment. He brushed back his thin hair, and then bent down to fasten his shoelace.
Mr. Walters stepped up on to the rail of his bunk and looked through the open port.
'What a bloody lovely day,' he said.
Then he stepped down again, helped himself to tea, stirred it, sat on the edge of his bunk and began to gulp it down.
'Better have a cup,' he said to Mr. Hump. 'Never know when you'll get the next. I always say take what's coming to you while you've got the chance.'
'No. I don't want any tea,' growled Hump.
'Please yourself,' snapped Mr. Walters.
'To hell with it, anyhow,' said Hump. 'I better have a cup.'
Mr. Walters said nothing, but went on gulping his own.
Mr. Hump stirred, tasted it in the spoon, sat down at the desk, and began slowly sipping his tea.
'They say we'll be in port day after tomorrow,' Mr. Hump said.
'Who said?'
'Well, everybody says it. Somebody must be right.'
'Perhaps. I'm not as optimistic as you,' said Walters.
He drained the cup, put it back on the tray. He took a cigarette case from his pocket, offered one to Mr. Hump.
'Thanks.'
He lit his own, then Mr. Hump's.
They both smoked in silence. Suddenly Mr. Walters jumped to his feet.
'Listen! What was that?'
What was what?'
'Listen!'
'I am.'
'But that row above deck. What is it?'
Both men ran out, cigarettes in their mouths, dashed up the alleyway, cleared the ladder in a few leaps, came out on deck.
People were shouting for'ard. The bell in the nest rang loud and clear.
'It's a ship.'
'Goddam submarine more like it.'
'A ship. A ship I tell you. There you are. Listen. It's a ship.'
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
'FORTY miles SW. Fastnet. Heavy ground swells. Rain.'
Bells rang and men left fo'c'sles and cabins and rushed out on deck. Another ship. Yes. Another ship. More signals. Then they returned to cabin and fo'c'sles again. It was raining now. A.10 had increased her speed. Well, they had heard bells, they had seen ships. No more wondering, no speculative circles. Derelict hours were over. They knew it. They knew it in ring of bells and sighted ships. And those throbbing engines sealed everything, giving finality to belief, impetus to humble hope. Yes, it was real. No dream. Forty miles SW. Fastnet.
At first the rain was hardly noticeable, descending like fine dust, covering everything with a moist film, then suddenly it began to pour. Doors were closed, ventilators turned round. The decks were deserted. The down-pouring rain struck like whip-lashes, the heavy drab of closed hatches took the burden of it, noisily, yet indifferently. Combings and battens made canvas secure. The downpour became a torrent, and the wind rose. It flung the rain amok, down ventilators and into alleyways and corridors, it splashed against glass, pattered rhythmically upon canvas boat-covers. It made sounds like drumbeats against the bridge dodger, struck sharp like hail in the look-out man's face. The sky darkened. Masses of heavy cloud moved ugly across the horizon. Water poured along the scuppers, dripped from ladders, made poo
ls in alleyways and behind winches, festooned rails with glittering drops. It dripped from bulkhead and bulwark, dribbling down paint cracks in rivulets, plopped with a faint whistling sound into the greater flow of flooded scuppers. The rain spun and circled in air. The low-lying clouds moved more swiftly, great jagged tears in them. The black arch of the horizon seemed to swing like a pendulum. The rain swept in sheets, all the chambers of space surrendered to the driving wind.
A.10 ploughed, cleaving water, darkish-green and turbulent, waves tossed and turned like prancing steeds, fell away before the oncoming bow. Looking down from the nest the man could see the water parting in swelling silken masses as the steel bore through. The water rose and fell, waves spread out like a fan, closed in again, noisily, threshing against indifferent steel. High above the canvas dodger round the nest snapped and rattled against driving wind and rain, and the lone man drew his reefer collar tighter about his neck, pulled down the sou'wester more securely on his head. To him the grey sky seemed so low he had only to put up his hand to be able to touch it. But the world of water was a rolling dancing world, and as she began to pitch the horizon swung, seemed for a moment to blot out the sea, and again it fell rapidly and the sea rose like a huge wall. A.10 had her nose shaped for the land. In her wake she left patches of dark and furious water, bubbling and frenzied from the thresh of screws.
The wind changed round but the rain did not cease. Everything was soaked in it. The halliards like writhing serpents made their own strange noises. Doors rattled on their hooks, and the draughts below billowed carpet edges, the wind making guttural noises as it was sucked beneath. Beyond that man in the nest and that eye upon the bridge, A.10 seemed deserted, isolated, at one with the greater wilderness without. The water continued to darken in colour, its surface thickening, oily and green, but the spindrift spun gossamer-like, threading air a moment, then vanishing.
'A grey day,' thought the man on the bridge. 'An English day.'
The rain drove up the fo'c'sle alleyway and there the shut door rattled too, and the men heard it, but that was not important. They were quite indifferent to the antics of the elements. There were more important things on hand. There was much to do and preparations to be made. The watch below did not sleep. The watch on were busy 'somewhere aft,' lost to sight, but that didn't matter much either. A.10 was on a true and steady course. They knew what was happening now and they believed in it. Thoughts winged their way, far from the sea, and from the ship holding them. The air was electric with conversation, men were dragging out boxes and bags from beneath bunks, rolling up clothes, making wagers with their neighbours as to when she would first get the land and then the Light.
