Samurai and Other Stories

by William Meikle

  “I don’t know about that,” someone called back. “Give me a shilling and I’ll do for you. I’ll even take me wooden teeth out.”

  That bought a round of laughter, and raised our spirits. But not for long.

  One by one the men fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

  There was naught to be heard but the crackle of the logs as the fire ate through fuel as fast as we could throw it on the flames.

  The spread of the ice slowed.

  Finally it stopped, a mere six inches from our feet. It did not retreat, but neither did it encroach any further. I began to believe that we might yet survive the night.

  “Is it over, Cap’n?” the First Mate asked.

  “Mayhap. Just pray it does not get any colder,” I said. “And we may yet see the morning.”

  And then it came, the thing I had been dreading, the thing that had taken the pastor.

  From outside we could hear shuffling, and a peculiar grunting, like a pig after truffles.

  The wind outside rose, from nowhere to a howling, shrieking gale. Heavy sleet lashed like musket-shot against the shutters. The ice crawled once more, began to creep ever faster towards our feet.

  “If you have any good ideas, Captain...?” the First Mate said.

  “Truly, I can think of none, for what Christian man has ever endured such devilry?” I replied.

  “Mayhap we should ask the Lord for some help?” the Mate said softly.

  I asked myself what the pastor might do, were he still with us.

  It took all of my strength, but I took myself further from the fire. I put my own body between the ice and my crewmen.

  “Lads, we are in a dark place,” I started. “I’ve led you into trouble aplenty afore now, and I’ve always brought you home safe. And so I will again. With a little help. The pastor has gone to join his Lord, but mayhap he’ll turn back and lend us a hand if he hears us calling. Let us pray.”

  I led the men in the Paternoster. Their voices were strong and clear, but mine own faltered. I had been watching the ice.

  Our appeals to our maker made not a jot of difference. The ice thickened, inexorably, throughout the room. It still crept slowly forward, and had almost reached all the way to the toe of my shoes.

  In the end it was the practical things that helped most... we rotated the men round so that all would have a spell in front of the fire, but even that proved of little worth as the supply of logs dwindled and the fire burned down.

  “Break up the trestles and tables lads,” the Mate shouted. “Everything that’s not breathing goes on the fire.”

  We burnt whatever we could find around us, from chairs and tables to the very leg of pork we had been eating earlier. The smell of cooking meat filled the tavern, but none of us were hungry.

  We huddled together until you couldn’t have squeezed a sheet of paper between us. In that way we kept ourselves alive.

  But still the ice crept forward.

  “Keep moving, men,” the First Mate shouted. “Give everyone a sight of the fire.”

  The wind howled up a notch. The long night went on.

  We shuffled in our tight huddle, looking forward only to our next spell in front of the fire, dreading our next pass in front of the door.

  I came to believe there were voices in the wind, soft voices whispering hopes of peace and warmer climes if I would only close my eyes and allow myself to dream.

  At other times I found myself talking to you, Lizzie, saying all the things I plan to say on my return, if I am spared long enough to see that day.

  At some point in that long night we forgot to shuffle, each of us lost in our own icy hell. After a while no one stoked the fire. The ice crept ever closer.

  “Goodbye, Jennie,” I heard the First Mate whisper, which was passing strange, as his wife was named Charlotte. That was the last I heard. I fell into an icy black hole that had no bottom.

  An eternity later I woke, from a dream of sun and hot sand into a nightmare of icy death.

  At first I thought myself back in Aberdeen in my own bed, wrapped and swaddled in a thick quilt against a winter’s morning.

  Then I moved.

  A cold blue hand fell onto my face.

  It was no bed-sheet I lay under... it was the dead, frozen bodies of my crew. They had done their last duty to me, keeping me alive through the night.

  I crawled, on hands and knees like a whipped dog, pushing myself through the blue dead forest of my crew-mates’ limbs, promising the Lord that I’d be his faithful servant if he’d only but grant me one final glimpse of warm sun on green pastures.

  The Lord finally heard me. I dragged my body clear and stood in front of the dying embers of the fire, tears blinding me as I surveyed the frozen bodies of my crew.

  There came a moan from within the pile.

  “Cap’n,” the First Mate cried. “Are we in hell?”

  I reached into the pile and found his warm hand. He dragged himself out as I used what paltry strength I had left to help his escape.

  “Not in hell,” I said as I lifted him to his feet. “But as close as mortal man should get.”

  More groans rose from the pile of frozen flesh.

  Of thirty men who entered the tavern the night before, only six of us pulled ourselves from the tangled pile and out into the near-forgotten warmth of a morning sun.

  “Fuck me,” Stumpy Jack said, squinting in the sudden light. “I ain’t been in a pickle near as bad as that since John the Baker’s Son insulted the Prince of Prussia’s consort. I thought I was a goner for sure.”

  “We are all only here because of the Lord’s mercy,” the First Mate said. “Have heart boys. We may yet see hearth and home.”

  “And Jennie?” I said.

  The First Mate smiled.

  “Don’t be telling the missus, Cap’n,” he said. “Jennie is a widow in Liverpool... sort of a home from home, if you get my meaning?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jim Crawford said. “We will ne’er get home again, so no one will ever know.”

  “Home again?” I said. “We may yet. But we must be strong if we are to survive another night such as the last one.”

  “As long as the sun shines, surely our strength will return,” the First Mate said.

  Indeed, the simple pleasure of the warmth of sunshine on my face was already pushing the memory of the cold away. I no longer felt that I might expire at any minute.

  We stood, blinking, watching the ice and snow melt away with unnatural rapidity until all that was left was a dampness on the ground and the silent dead bodies of our brave shipmates back in the tavern.

  And that was when we six made our vow.

  “There will be no more hiding in locked taverns,” I said to them. “We have lost too many friends and we will lose no more. We will make our stand on the Havenhome. And this time we will be ready.”

  * * *

  At first the six of us who survived that hellish night in the tavern felt joy at the mere fact we were yet alive, with so many of our fellowship having fallen. Afterwards, the crew had a mind to up anchor and leave, never mind it would be near-nigh impossible for a crew of so few to get the vessel anywhere in open sea. In the end I shamed them into staying.

  “I stay here,” I shouted. “If you choose to go, you may leave me behind. Have you so far forgotten the fellowship we shared that you can leave your friends where they lie? Would you deny them the comfort of the words of the Lord?”

  None spoke.

  “And what of when we six are home and safe? What will you tell their wives, their sweethearts? Would you be able to ever look them in the eye again? And when they ask in the taverns how it is that we six came home yet the others did not? Could you speak up and say that we ran like rats for the comfort of home while our shipmates lay dead in a tavern? I know that I could not. I will stay here, until we have eased the path to Paradise for our fallen.”

  “And I will stand with you, Cap’n, as always. You have led us through many
dangers. I have trust that you will not betray us now.”

  The First Mate brought himself over to join me.

  Together we stood there, while the remaining others stared at us sullenly, weighing their thoughts of mutiny against their loyalty to me, their captain.

  In truth I myself wanted little more than to flee back to your soft arms, but I held firm, although I half expected at any moment for a storm to brew up and freeze me, immobile, to the spot. The storm did not come, but the last remainder of my crew did, eventually coming sheepishly to join us.

  “The Lord will reward you, in this life or the next,” I said to each of them.

  “Do not be too quick with your praise, Cap’n,” the First Mate said. “For mayhap they know as well as we do that four men, no matter how strong, could not even so much as get the boat out of this harbour, never mind across all the seas that separate us from home.”

  “Still, they have shown themselves brave enough to step down beside us. What each man holds in his heart lies between him and his maker, but their actions show them to be still true. For that, I give thanks.”

  “Then we will all give thanks together, to the Lord,” the First Mate said. “The pastor may not be here, but that does not mean we should neglect our debts. Let us pray.”

  The First Mate led us in prayer, as solemn and faithful as if he himself was a pastor. Then Stumpy Jack started up the old songs. We sang “Wind and Sail, He Watches O’er Us,” at the top of our voices.

  I was the first to make my way back into that hellhole of the tavern, despite the heaviness that lay on my soul.

  “Let us have at it, lads,” the Mate said behind me, leading the rest inside. “We cannot have our friends lying here in the dark when there is warm sunshine to be had outside.”

  And so we lifted and we carried, trying not to remember the times we had spent with those who were now no more than cold meat under our hands. I will spare you the details, dearest Lizzie, but bringing the bodies of our fallen out of the tavern was a sore blow to our hearts. Some of us had a tear in our eye as we laid them in a row in front of the courthouse. But a far sorer blow was yet to come.

  When we went to fetch the pastor and Bald Tom, neither of them was to be found.

  I stood in the ruin of what was left of the privy.

  I could find no sign that Bald Tom had ever been there, save for a single partially frozen shit on the ground.

  Stumpy Jack wailed. “The devil has taken them. And it will be us for it next.”

  He would have fled there and then if the First Mate hadn’t held him by the scruff of the neck.

  “Have courage, man,” he said, loud enough for us all to hear. “Last night the Good Lord saved our sorry skins. He has a purpose for us all, even you, old Stumpy. All we have to do is trust him, and he will deliver us.”

  Those quiet words from the big man gave us all succour, but only until we dragged the bodies out to the cemetery.

  None of us were prepared for the sight that met us.

  This time old Stumpy did flee, screaming back to the boat as if all the demons of hell were after him.

  The graves we had spent the last days digging all lay open, brown earth strewn every which way. The dead had not lain at rest, despite all the pastor’s pleas and prayers. They had risen up, digging their way out of the cold earth.

  There was no sign of any bodies, man, woman or child. Not a single one slept where we had put them.

  “What shall we do, Cap’n? Shall we take them back to the Havenhome,” the First Mate asked, but I had no answer.

  “Leave them here,” Jim Crawford shouted. “Leave them here. For if those we have said the words over can yet rise, then surely there is no hope for any of us.”

  “I must think on it,” I said. “And I cannot hold a thought in my head while these graves lie before me. Leave our dead be. I will repair to my cabin. Mayhap the Lord will send me guidance.”

  We followed Stumpy Jack back to the boat; more slowly, but with no less trepidation in our hearts.

  By the time we got back onto the Havenhome Stumpy Jack was already blind drunk and no use to man nor beast.

  “We have to go back and bury our crewmates,” the First Mate said.

  “Why bother. They will only be up and about again on the morrow,” Stumpy Jack replied. He wept, a pitiful sight in such an old sea dog such as him.

  “Jack has it right,” Jim Crawford piped up. “Despite all our efforts, despite all the pastor’s prayers, they’ve all come up again. And who is to know, mayhap the pastor and Bald Tom are with them even now.”

  Dave the Bosun’s mate and Eye-Tie Frank stayed quiet. I saw they were already eyeing the grog. I allowed each man another half-cup.

  “It’s up to you, Cap’n,” the First Mate said after swallowing a mouthful that would have floored a smaller man. “If you say we should go back and put them in the ground, then I’ll make sure we all go as one.”

  May the Lord God forgive me; I left them there, lying out under the sun beside the empty graves.

  “No,” I replied. “Pull up the gangplank. We will spend this night on the Havenhome. I will sleep on it, and make a decision on the morrow.”

  But sleep was the furthest thing from my thoughts. I am ashamed to admit it, but I took to the grog, swilling it down as if the morrow did not matter, as if I had no responsibilities in the world. I know I promised you, dearest, but my solemn vow was not enough to keep me from it. I can only say in my own mitigation that I was far from hearth and home, and sore afeard. And if it is any consolation to you sweetest, I have no memory of the act, and I suffered the most fearful of headaches on awakening.

  It was the First Mate who brought me out of my stupor.

  At first I thought I had taken enough grog to blind me, but it was only that the sky outside had grown dark. Another night had fallen. There was a chill in the air.

  “Cap’n. You need to see this,” he said.

  “Can’t it wait?” I said, groaning as the result of my drinking gripped my head like a vise.

  “Afraid not, Cap’n. If I left you asleep, you might never wake again.”

  “That might be no bad thing,” I moaned.

  He slapped me in the face, hard. I was so astonished I almost fell on my arse. I probably would have done had he not put out a hand to steady me.

  “I’m rightful sorry, Cap’n, but your men need you sober and in charge. We are in perilous waters, and hard times. That is a mixture that requires a captain, not a drunken sot.”

  In all our time together he had never raised his voice to me before, let along strike me.

  I was of a mood to be affronted, but one look at the fear in his eyes melted all passion away.

  “You have the right, sir,” I said to him. “If you see me lift another flagon of grog you can throw me in the brig and toss the key over the side.”

  “Best save your vow of abstinence for a bit,” he said with a grim smile. “You might need a brew after you’ve seen what waits out on the dock.”

  He led me up on deck.

  Moonlight shone down, illuminating the dock.

  A single figure stood there, staring up at us.

  It was our first sighting of an aboriginal, one that froze the very breath in my throat. He wore a headpiece of feathers that rose in a crown above his head and fell in a long tail down his back. His clothing looked to be animal skin roughly sewn together. His feet were bare.

  But that wasn’t what drew the eye. I had heard tell that the natives of these shores were red, almost the colour of blood, but this tall man was white as ivory, as cold as a stone. White eyes without a pupil stared up at us.

  He raised his arms.

  It snowed, out of that clear starry sky.

  The First Mate looked past the native, down into the colony. “Dear Lord preserve us,” he whispered.

  I turned to follow his gaze.

  The dead walked along the dock towards us, each of them staring with that white-eyed gaze. And there
, at the front of the mob, stood a bulky man in a woman’s skirt. Alongside him strode a tall grim-faced preacher dressed in black.

  Bald Tom and the pastor had come back to visit their old shipmates.

  * * *

  The First Mate roused the remaining crew, all save Stumpy Jack who was so far gone in stupor that Gabriel’s Horn itself is unlikely to have called him out of sleep.

  Our first thought, nay, our only thought, was to raise anchor and head for open water, but we were denied even that chance. In less time than the blink of an eye a storm blew up, a wind so cold it would have frozen us to the deck if we hadn’t had the foresight to wear our winter furs. Even at that, the cold bit at my nose so hard it felt like a nip from an excited dog.

  “Up anchor,” the First Mate shouted, but too late.

  The sea had frozen solid around us.

  We were stuck hard in place. Old timbers creaked and moaned as the ice gripped tight.

  “Will she hold?” I asked the Mate.

  “She held together when the ice was three feet thick off Newfoundland two years back,” he said. “She’ll hold now.”

  But I was starting to believe that it was colder yet than that day. I had to keep shifting from foot to foot; otherwise my soles would have frozen to the deck. By now snow fell so thick that I could no longer see the buildings of the colony beyond the dock.

  “What purpose does it serve?” I said. I thought I had merely spoken to myself, but the Mate heard.

  “The pastor used to say that everything, good or evil, was God’s will, all part of a scheme of things, and that we would only ever understand when we were risen up on the Day of Judgment, and the veils would fall from our eyes.”

  “Then I wish the Day of Judgment would hurry upon us,” I replied. “For I am sore perplexed, and have long since tired of this mummery.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, Cap’n,” the Mate said. “Be very careful what you wish for.”

  Jim Crawford came up beside us on deck, musket in his hand. It fell unused to the deck when he saw what faced us across on the dock. Stout fellow though he was, Jim Crawford fell to his knees, struck down in terror.