The Black Moon

by Winston Graham

  Drake, however, was running a high fever. On the second day out he was barely conscious. Dwight wanted to sit with him, but they persuaded him for his own health he must stay on deck, and the patient Bone remained below relieved from time to time by Ellery, who had taken a great fancy to the boy.

  When they were in mid-Channel the wind changed and became squally, with a choppy head sea, and for a time they made little progress. Ross went for a while to squat beside Dwight, who still sat on deck – now in the lee of the main hatch.

  Ross said: ‘This will keep us another day at sea. Having come this far, I am anxious to be home.’

  Dwight said: ‘And I.’

  ‘You must be.’

  ‘Ross, I don’t think I have thanked you at all for doing what you have done, for risking what you have risked. Nor can I ever adequately do so were I to spend a week over it . . .’

  ‘Don’t try. It is done.’

  ‘But I must try – however surely I must fail . . . When you came, when you appeared out of the night like an apparition, carrying a lantern and a pistol and with your armed men around you, I believe I was slow to accept my good fortune.’

  ‘Not surprising—’

  ‘Oh, yes, surprising. But, you see, even imprisonment such as that has a routine, and after more than a year of it one becomes dulled, half resigned to the semi-starvation, to the squalor, to the sick and dying men, to the stenches and the suppurating wounds and the fevers and the lack of all medical aid, and one becomes a – a cog in the wheel of the camp, an important cog, for even a small knowledge of medicine is priceless. The camp was run by a group of us, some more fortunately circumstanced than others. A few of the civilian prisoners were allowed to retain a little money – unlike the rest of us, who were stripped and robbed of everything as soon as we reached the convent. A Lady Ann Fitzroy, who has but recently been released, was invaluable in the small aids she was able to obtain for us – especially in the baneful winter that has just passed. Men were dying about me all the time; but others with fantastical determination continued to live in spite of all their illnesses and privations. It astonishes me always, this human will to live, even when there seems no single thing left to live for . . . Well . . .’ Dwight dabbed the sores on his lips with a cloth and stared over the pitching sea. ‘. . . well, a dozen of us ran the camp. Everyone in it was in a sense under our charge: the civilians in one block, the soldiers and sailors in another, the women in a third. We organized our meetings, our lives, we tried to devise recreations for the men, occupations – bricks out of straw, but we did all we could. So it became our lives, our vocations. So when you first came – in the first surprise of the moment – I felt I could hardly leave . . .’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘But do not think I am in that hypnotized mood any longer. I regret – yes, I still regret that those men, nearly all of them, are still prisoners and in need of the attention I can no longer give them. To me true happiness would have been if we could all have been released together—’

  ‘It was not possible.’

  ‘Oh, I know. We should have needed a ship of the line to come home in . . . But now I am free – now I am really free – it is beyond me to express how I feel. To have the clean air, the sun, the salt on my lips, to know I am not going back to that – that hell. To know that I am among friends, and soon shall see all my old friends. And finally to see Caroline . . . I am near to tears.’

  ‘Yes, well . . .’ Affected himself, Ross frowned at the unstable horizon.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well enough since she heard you were alive. Before that she reminded me of a cut flower that has not been put in water.’

  ‘I do not think I can see her like this. I shall take a month first to make an effort to restore myself.’

  ‘I rather suppose she will like to do the restoring.’

  ‘Yes . . . yes. I don’t know. I am such a scarecrow.’

  They were silent. Lieutenant Spade, late of HMS Alexander, was at the tiller and he shifted a point into the wind.

  ‘At least two others are saved with you,’ said Ross. ‘That is a small bonus. And one or two more may yet win their freedom, I am only in much disquiet about Nanfan. I dread the moment of telling his father.’

  ‘Oh that,’ Dwight said, ‘I have something to confess. When we left Nanfan he was not dead.’

  ‘Not dead? But—’

  ‘Oh, he was dying. The whole brain was damaged. He could not live an hour. But in that hour, I knew unless I lied to you, one or other would stay with him. Out of loyalty, which could do no good, one or other, probably you, would have lost your life too.’

  Ross was silent again, thinking this over. What if Nanfan had regained consciousness? Left alone among enemies to die. And once before, at the time of the mining accident, he had confounded the doctors by recovering.

  ‘There was no chance this time, I assure you,’ Dwight said, reading his thoughts. ‘With internal injuries one cannot always be sure. But this was plain to see.’

  Ross nodded. ‘And as to our other casualty?’

  ‘Young Carne? I cannot tell yet. I have no probes, no medical tools. Ball wounds are usually non-toxic, but one cannot tell whether any threads of his shirt or coat were carried in with it. Also one does not know how much the bone has splintered. But that is less important to his survival.’

  ‘Then what are his chances?’

  ‘We should know soon after we land. I do not like this high fever, but it may only be caused by shock. If the wound goes putrid of course there is no hope. One cannot amputate a shoulder.’

  The head winds continued to plague them, and for a day they made little progress. For all the sail they saw they might as well have been in mid-Atlantic. Lieutenant Armitage, who was the most knowledgeable of them, estimated that they were about sixty miles north-west of Brest and probably therefore about an equal distance south-west of the Lizard. The wind was north-easterly, and to make the landfall they wanted they had to tack continually into the mouth of the wind. To make any landfall, they had to beat into it, for the end of England was not far away, and they did not want to find themselves in the Atlantic. All through the night they kept three men on deck: the rest huddled in the foetid cabin which pitched and shivered and lurched without cease. They were running short of candles, but a last one burned tonight in the lantern; some were seasick and some tried to sleep; Dwight sat up with Drake, who appeared to be sinking. Dwight said he was so used to being up at night and had so recovered from two days’ sea air that he could well do this.

  After arguing Ross gave in, having himself had only a snatched hour here and there since before they left Quiberon. He fell into an exhausted doze in which he found himself explaining to Demelza how her brother had died on the expedition. ‘He was near dead,’ he said, ‘so we left him. It was every man for himself and there was nothing else to do.’ Demelza looked at him and her face became Caroline’s. ‘At least I’ve brought home Dwight to you. I lost Joe Nanfan and killed two French guards, and a number of British prisoners-of-war lost their lives, and Drake, Demelza’s brother, of course he had to go. But at least I’ve brought Dwight.’ And he turned to show her, and all that was there were two hospital orderlies with a stretcher and on the stretcher was Dwight, and he was dead too. ‘At least,’ Ross said, ‘you will be able to bury him in the family graveyard. That makes it all worth while.’

  Towards morning he fought a way out of his nightmare and climbed the heaving ladder to the deck. After the moon had set there had been a couple of hours so black that even the breaking tips of waves seemed to have no incandescence; but now a suspicion of dawn was lightening the east. He took a deep breath. He felt much worse than before he slept. His limbs ached, his tongue tasted of sulphur, his throat was sore and he was beset with the nauseas of seasickness. He crawled along to Lieutenant Spade whose turn it was at the helm.

  ‘Is there sign of a change?’

  ‘Not yet. But I have hopes. It woul
d be very rare for a north-easter to blow longer than this one has. At this time of the year, I mean.’

  As dawn broke they saw a three-masted barque on the horizon, but she was making away from them and soon disappeared. Presently Dwight came up.

  Ross said: ‘Well?’

  Dwight shrugged. ‘I cannot be sure. He is much quieter. It may be natural sleep or it may be a coma. But I have smelled the bandages hourly, and there is no sign yet of necrosis. By noon we should know more.’

  About ten the wind dropped and the lugger wallowed like a shot bird in the choppy sea. Then a breeze sprang up from the west, with increasing cloud and a hint of rain. The sails flapped and filled and the craft heeled to the new wind. The struggle was over and they were bound for home.

  At midday during a heavy shower of warm rain Dwight came up to Ross, who was at the tiller.

  ‘I think you will have one man fewer on your conscience, Ross. I think he will recover.’

  Chapter Eleven

  They reached Falmouth about seven that evening. By now it was pouring with rain and blowing hard. In spite of a white shirt flapping madly from each masthead they earned two shots from the castle, the last of which was certainly not a blank, before a naval pinnace came alongside to examine their credentials.

  In the first dark Verity was called to her door and saw a tall gaunt man standing there. Behind him was a scarecrow supported by a burly servant.

  ‘Ross!’ she said. ‘Oh, you are back? God be praised! I have worried so much for you! Come in! Pray come in! Come upstairs! Are you victualled? I have ample of cold food, and there’s wine . . .’

  ‘You remember Dr Enys, my love?’

  ‘Oh . . . oh, yes!’ Verity swallowed. ‘So it has been a success! I am so happy for you! Pray come in.’

  They got Dwight upstairs. It was rather a struggle. When they were sitting down Dwight said:

  ‘I am sorry to be so famine struck, Mrs Blamey . . . They did not give us chicken every day at Quimper . . . Your cousin came and winkled me out, and I believe none too soon if he was to save my good looks. A day or two’s home cooking will no doubt make some difference.’

  Verity stared at him in the lamplight, then spoke briskly to hide her consternation.

  ‘Chicken! That reminds me. We have chicken bones which will soon make a soup. I will call Martha and put it on the hob. It will soon be hot—’

  Ross stayed her as she was about to leave. ‘How many bedrooms have you here, Verity?’

  ‘Three apart from our own. Enough to accommodate Dr Enys and yourself and your man—’

  ‘There is more to it than that, my dear. We have another sick man. Drake Carne, Demelza’s brother, was wounded and even now is still in danger. If for tonight at least you could give him rest, tomorrow perhaps—’

  ‘Bring him at once and let him stay as long as is necessary. There is nowhere else in Falmouth where he could be cared for. Where is he? Downstairs?’

  ‘Still aboard. I had to see you first—’

  ‘Shame on you! Can you send for him? Where are you moored? Mrs Stevens will go when I have roused her—’

  ‘Bone will go, if you will have him. But I would warn you, he is gravely ill, and if you undertake his care it may be days or even weeks—’

  Verity smiled at the stocky man. ‘Go, Bone, please. Take no more heed of your master.’

  So Ross and Dwight and Drake and Bone slept at the Blameys’. Armitage and Spade found room at the King’s Arms; Tregirls and Ellery and Jonas and Hoblyn stayed on board the Sarzeau.

  In the morning Drake was clear-headed although there was fever about. Dwight anxiously prospected around the bandages, but the smell of gangrene was still absent. As the improvised wadding had not been disturbed for five days he decided to leave it alone for the time. If the flesh were healthy it might do more harm than good to probe.

  Dwight was not fit to travel yet, and not anxious to. If Mrs Blamey would generously accommodate him for another day or so he would stay and rest.

  Ross said: ‘You must not be afraid of meeting Caroline. You under-rate her if you think she will be put off by your frail appearance.’

  ‘It is not my frail appearance. I look as if I have barely recovered from the Black Death.’

  ‘However you look she will want to see you.’

  ‘Well, give me two days. Even to ride a horse is a big undertaking.’

  ‘Never mind a horse; we’ll arrange a carriage. Though God help you, a part of the road will barely take four wheels at the same time. But have your two days. Meantime I must send word.’

  Ross went down to the boat, expecting that Tholly would be willing to mount his waiting pony and ride to tell Demelza her husband was home and safe but could not come for a few days more. But Tregirls was far from willing. Having helped to bring in a French fishing-boat, there was prize money about, and he was not moving from Falmouth till he got his share. He was not unwilling, however, to loan his pony to Ellery, who left for home that morning bearing the news. Ellery was to call in at Killewarren on the way and tell Caroline to expect Dwight on Wednesday. Ross consigned his interest in the prize money to Tholly, on the understanding that any share coming to him should be divided equally among the others as well. In the meantime, if there were any formalities to be gone through, any papers to be signed, they would find him at Captain Blamey’s house.

  The other two, rather to his surprise, were equally anxious to remain on board. Jacka Hoblyn, who had been the most seasick and the most difficult all the time he was away, was now enjoying the small notoriety and in no hurry to return to his family in Sawle. What had looked so desirable when it seemed about to be withdrawn from him, now, because it had become available again, was less enticing.

  That there was so much fuss Ross was surprised, though on reflection he knew he should not have been. Both the lieutenants gave interviews to the press, and these would come out in the Exeter Chronicle and the Sherborne Mercury. A man followed Ross home asking for details, but he received no encouragement.

  On the Monday morning, with the rain still pouring down, Ross went in to see Drake, who was sitting up in bed and, apart from the bandaged shoulder and the plastered fingers, was now looking more substantial than Dwight. Perhaps this too was not surprising. At nineteen, if a man does not die from a wound, he quickly gets better.

  ‘So,’ said Ross. ‘I thought I might have had to take your sister home some bad news.’

  Drake smiled. All the damned family, Ross thought, had this wonderful smile. They had certainly not inherited it from their father. ‘No, sur. I eaten two eggs this morning and porridge before. I never was so well cared for.’

  ‘Mrs Blamey is my dearest cousin. She will tend you like a mother; and Dr Enys thinks you need another week of it.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll not need to be s’long as that. But twould be brave to stay. I b’lieve in the three or four days . . .’

  ‘We’ll see. Or rather Mrs Blamey will see. Dr Enys does not fancy handing you over to some Falmouth apothecary at this stage, for he feels they would be likely to kill you off. So when he leaves on Wednesday, and I leave with him, there will only be Mrs Blamey to say whether you are well enough, and you must obey her.’

  ‘Whatever you d’say, Cap’n Poldark.’

  Ross went to the window. It is a sad truth that when a man falls in love with a girl he does not necessarily admire that girl’s brothers and sisters, nor even the man and woman who gave her birth. Indeed, such is human nature, that the more a man loves his wife, the more possessively so, the less he is likely to esteem the womb that produced her, or the other fruits of that womb. Ross’s was not a jealous or possessive nature, but ever since the Carne brothers had arrived he had regarded them as a nuisance: first, by their mere arrival and claiming of favours on the grounds of relationship; second, because of their extreme Methodism; and third, and more recently, because of Drake’s pestilential involvement with Morwenna Chynoweth. He had risked so much to save this boy �
�� on Demelza’s behalf – that he resented the risk and had come near to resenting the boy.

  But in the eighteen months he had known the two young men his contacts, his true conversations with them, had been practically nil. Because Demelza stood between them as a link she had also stood between them as a bar. Only on this trip had he had any conversation with Drake as a person. And, reluctantly at first, his feelings had altered.

  ‘There is one thing . . .’

  ‘Sur?’

  ‘Before you came with me on this trip you talked of going away. Somewhere, you did not know where. Before I leave here I want your assurance that you will come to Nampara for a couple of weeks so that we may all consider the situation as it now stands.’

  ‘Right, I promise that, Cap’n Poldark.’

  ‘And if you do not fancy staying with Sam, spend the two weeks with us. It may do you good and help you to recover your balance.’

  ‘Thank ee, Cap’n Poldark. I fancy well staying wi’ Sam, but mebbe it would be a comfortable change, like, staying wi’ you.’

  ‘And,’ Ross said restively, ‘do not call me Cap’n Poldark. That was Demelza’s prohibition. Call me Ross, if you please.’

  Drake considered the back of his brother-in-law. ‘I’ll call ee Ross when I’m twenty-one, if so be’s I may – Cap’n Poldark. Twould be more seemly.’

  ‘Seemly for whom?’

  ‘For all concerned.’

  ‘It is a while off yet.’

  ‘Two year.’

  Ross was staring out of the window at a crowd collecting to watch two men fighting in the gutter.

  Drake said: ‘All the same, I think after I been home for a while I did ought to go. I don’t think tis ever in me to settle there again. And, like twas said before, twould be more proper after the trouble I brought. And if ever I’m to forget – or try to forget . . .’

  ‘Morwenna Chynoweth?’

  ‘Yes. Though I doubt I ever can or shall. Tis like a far worse wound than this ball in my shoulder – and there’s no healing of it.’