The Hungry Tide

by Valerie Wood

  ‘I haven’t given up hope yet,’ said Will. ‘Ships have taken as long as this afore and still turned up, though it’s odd that nobody has seen them.’ He sat silently meditating, then shook his head, a small smile on his lips. ‘I used to think, when he was just a lad, that he was like a cat with nine lives!’

  ‘Whatever does tha mean, Will? Who does tha mean?’

  ‘Young John. Well, like ’time when he fell into ’water, when I had my accident. Tha can freeze to death in minutes in those waters, but he just came up smiling.’

  Sarah raised her head, she had never heard her father speak of it, it was her mother who had told her what had happened in the year she was born.

  ‘And then another time he almost got into a scrape because of me.’ Will recalled silently the escapade near Beverley and John’s verbal sparring with the soldiers. ‘But, by, he was right sharp.’ His expression suddenly closed up as he realized he had an interested audience in his wife and daughter.

  ‘So he really was a friend, Fayther?’

  ‘Aye, or he could have been if he hadn’t been who he was, or if I hadn’t been who I was.’

  ‘Did it matter so much?’ Sarah asked, her voice catching. ‘Did it really matter?’

  ‘Aye, lass, it did at ’time. Still does, tha can’t alter how folks feel.’ He looked at her keenly. ‘Don’t ever forget thy background. No need to be ashamed of it, tha’s from good stock, but we’re different from ’gentry, better in some ways than they are, but they’ll always be masters and we’ll always be peazuns.’

  Sarah rose to leave, to go back to her own cottage and face another sleepless night. Her father was wrong. She realized that, now that it was too late, but there was no sense in saying so, nothing she said would make him alter his opinion.

  ‘Tha looks pale, Sarah. Is tha poorly?’ Maria watched her sharply.

  ‘No, I’m all right, Ma. I’m not sleeping well, that’s all. I can hear the sea battering against the cliffs, it seems to be worse at night.’ She hesitated. ‘Fayther. Do whales scream?’

  Will looked shocked. ‘What a question, Sal! Why does tha want to know?’

  ‘Do they, Fayther? Please answer me.’ She had to ask. She needed to know whether the cries which penetrated her dreams and woke her, cold and sweating, came from human or beast.

  He took a deep breath. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time. ‘Aye, they do,’ he said slowly. He looked into the depths of the fire and remembered the cold. He shivered. ‘They do. When the iron hits, they moan. It’s like no other sound in God’s world.’

  He ran his hand across the stump of his knee. ‘There’s some as will say that they make no sound, none that humans can hear, anyroad, but I’ll tell thee, and other seamen will vouch for it, that they do, we’ve heard ’em.’

  His eyes glazed and he was absent from the room with its smoky, flickering firelight, gone from them to a distant land. ‘When we get to the ice, and whales are about, even though we’re a long way off, it’s as if they can hear us, even though we try to keep quiet. Then they start to sing, as if they’re calling to us! I tell thee, I’ve never heard music like it. It’s eerie and mournful and beautiful, as if it’s from some other world. It carries across water and ice and seems to echo from all sides. Tha can feel it pounding through ’ship and through thy body. Men get scared and can’t wait to kill ’monsters, just to get it over with.’

  ‘Poor things,’ said Sarah softly.

  ‘Poor things?’ Her father looked up from his reverie. ‘What would we do without them? We’d have no lighting, no oil, no brushes or soap. No oil for manufacturing. Hull would be a dead town without ’whaling, I’ll tell thee, so don’t go soft in thy head and think on ’poor whales. They have to suffer or we all die.’

  The banns were read in Tillington church at the end of a cold bleak February. Joe insisted that they should not wait any longer and Sarah could no longer think of a reason to say no.

  ‘Our Sarah’s sickening for summat, I’m sure.’ Maria bounced her grandson on her knee and confided in Lizzie. ‘Tha would never think she was about to be wed.’

  ‘Maybe she’s having a babby,’ said Lizzie, looking shyly at Maria, wondering whether to tell of her own impending second pregnancy.

  Maria smiled at her daughter-in-law. Motherhood suited her, she was round and plump and contented, unlike Sarah who was pale and thin. ‘No, I’m sure it’s not that. I would know. There’s summat else bothering her.’

  She knew from Joe’s tense and worried frown that things were not right between him and Sarah, but Sarah would not discuss it and withdrew further into herself.

  ‘Don’t marry him, Sarah if tha’s not happy about it,’ she implored her as the day drew near. ‘There’s nowt wrong with being an old maid. Better that than spending a lifetime regretting.’

  Sarah just nodded and said nothing, feeling only ice in her veins where warm blood should be.

  She had seen the Mastersons’ carriage the day before as she returned from a visit to a sick child in the village, and as usual she stepped to one side and averted her eyes, but as it drew past her, Walters pulled up the team and Miss Lucy put her head out. She was alone in the carriage and she beckoned for Sarah to come over.

  ‘How are you, Sarah?’

  Sarah curtsied. ‘I’m quite well, thank you, Miss Lucy. And you?’

  ‘I’m very well indeed.’ Her blue eyes shone and she laughed happily. ‘Oh, Sarah, I wish things hadn’t changed. I do miss you, what fun we used to have.’

  ‘Yes, we did, Miss Lucy. When we were small and didn’t understand how things had to be.’ Sarah smiled back at her former friend. Lucy hadn’t really changed, she was just obeying the rules.

  ‘Do I look different, Sarah?’ Lucy lifted her face for Sarah to see. She was warmly wrapped against the cold, her hands inside a fur muff and her cheeks glowing under her fur-trimmed bonnet.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, or maybe a little brighter, the wind has brought colour to your cheeks.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Sarah. What do you think?’ She smiled a brilliant smile which lit up her face. ‘I’m to be married. To the most wonderful man in the world. As soon as we have news of Papa’s ship we shall make the announcement.’ Her smile faded slightly. ‘But we will wait a suitable time, you know, because of poor dear John.’

  Sarah turned her head so that Lucy wouldn’t see her trembling lips or her tear-filled eyes. How strange to think that life would go on, that people went about their business, got married, had babies; whilst inside herself there was a great desolation.

  ‘Would you come with me, Sarah?’

  ‘Come with you? Where?’ she asked blankly.

  ‘When I’m married. I can make my own decisions then. Mama won’t make them for me. We shall be living in Bath, a most beautiful town.’

  Sarah had refused of course, but had been pleased to have been asked, and had told Lucy that she too was to be married, the following week.

  Sarah roused to a fleeting state of melancholy. An undefined sense of loss greeted her most mornings when she woke restless from her dreams, but today her waking thoughts were disturbed by unanswered questions. Something was happening today. But what? She threw off the blanket from her bed and sat still, gathering her thoughts together.

  It was her wedding day. The day when she would join her life to Joe’s. She drew in a deep trembling breath. Was she being fair to him, giving him but a fragment of her being, when her spirit was lost, gone for ever? If only I knew for certain if John was alive or dead, she thought, then perhaps I would have peace. Her inner perception had deserted her these past few weeks, her mind an empty, cold void.

  She unbolted the door and opened it wide. A blast of wind rushed in, bringing with it twigs and dead leaves that had gathered in the doorway overnight and deposited them about her feet. The sea was wild, lashing with angry ferocity against the cliffs below her garden. She stood for a moment defying the squall as it tried to tear the door from her gras
p, and looked out at the ocean. Somewhere out there his ship was being tossed, heaving on mountainous waves or plummeting to unknown depths, or worse, frozen in, unable to move, the ribs of the whaler squeezed and crushed by the pressure of relentless, heaving ice.

  Twelve months had passed since John had sailed from Hull and Sarah knew she must say her final goodbye. ‘Today I start a new life,’ she whispered, ‘and to do justice to that life I must reach out just once more to find you.’

  She unhooked her cloak from behind the door and threw it around her shoulders. Her mind was becoming calm and detached and she was oblivious of her surroundings. ‘I must go now,’ she murmured. A compelling urgency pulled her out of the house towards the cliff path and the old deserted church. The sea was calling her, challenging her to come and face its power or forever be defeated.

  She paced the cliff top, backwards and forwards, to and fro, constantly watching the swell of the waves out at sea and the battle of angry swirling foam as it battered against the weakened structure of the cliffs. The wind tore at her hair and whipped her skirts about her, but she felt nothing, not the sharp sand as it was flung into her face nor the pain as she stubbed her bare feet on the boulders and pebbles which lay in her path.

  Finally she climbed the mound where the ruined church stood alone, its graveyard sliding over the edge, and stood with her back against the decaying stonework. She closed her eyes, her ears, her mind to the sights and sounds around her, she shut out the shriek of the wind and the pounding of the waves below her feet and sent out signals, soaring, flying, across this sea to the icy waters of the Polar regions, to the strange blue light which hovered above the icecaps, past the icebergs which towered mountainlike from the clear blue water, and on to the ice field which stretched beyond.

  In this other world she searched, calling plaintively, a sound which was echoed by the frantic call of sea birds as they rose in their hundreds, disturbed by her presence. She sped across the ice, her feet barely touching its frozen surface, as she saw a ship marooned fast in the ice, a hundred miles away, but as she came nearer, hope giving wings to her heels, it disappeared, a mere blue haze in the distance.

  She gave a deep shuddering sigh and felt the ice respond. It trembled and shook and cracked beneath her feet; it heaved and broke, throwing up great white mountains before her. She shielded her eyes from the brightness; flashes of blue and yellow invaded her sight as the sun appeared behind the mountains, though there was no warmth from it and she felt the marrow of her bones freeze.

  Suddenly there came a haunting cry. A creature was in pain. She could see blood on the ice, pools of red which froze as it fell, making maps and patterns on the ice floe. She had to help it but she couldn’t see it, couldn’t find it, no matter where she looked. Frantically she ran, hither and thither, searching, calling, but all she could hear was a plaintive sound like music, and she felt the cold wind chill her blood.

  She slid down on to the ice. Here she would stay, she would become one with the elements, frozen into the ice until the great thaw began, and then be washed away with the melting floes, to join the other waterbound creatures and to sing with them their sorrowful song.

  ‘Sarah!’ Joe shouted above the wind. ‘Sarah! Come down from there.’ He’d searched an hour for her after finding her cottage empty, the door swinging on its hinges. The wind had drawn the fire, burning it away, and the deserted room was cold and full of twigs and leaves.

  He found her crouched near the old church staring out to sea, but he couldn’t make her hear. She seemed to be deaf or in a trance and he was alarmed for her safety. The cliff had crumbled overnight, six yards had gone over, and part of Sarah’s garden too. Maybe that was why she was here. She must be upset. Not that it mattered, for today they were to be wed and she would be coming to live with him.

  ‘Sarah!’ He called again and she turned and looked at him, though he knew she did not see him. It was as if she were frozen to the spot and couldn’t move. That was it. She couldn’t move. Fear had made her immobile. She was sitting with her feet over the edge of the cliff and he dared not go too near in case he startled her. The piece of cliff that she was sitting on had a deep crack running through it, creeping insidiously towards the ruined church.

  ‘Sarah?’ He lowered his voice as if speaking to a child. ‘Just sit very still and I’ll go and get some help. I’ll bring a rope for thee to hold on to. Don’t be afeard, I’ll not be long. I’ll soon have thee back safely.’ He sought to give her comforting words. ‘Then we’ll be off to church. Hast tha forgotten we’re to be wed today?’

  He moved slowly away and then turned to run, knowing in his heart that she hadn’t heard him, that she was lost elsewhere.

  ‘Will! For God’s sake help me!’ He burst into the kitchen at Garston Hall where Maria was putting the finishing touches to the baking for the party after the ceremony.

  ‘He’s out in ’foldyard, Joe. Whatever’s ’matter?’

  He didn’t reply but raced out again slamming the door behind him. She wiped her hands on her apron and watched out of the window as he ran in search of Will.

  He stammered out his request, his face flushed with alarm. Will stared at him uncomprehendingly, then, galvanized into furious action as he realized what Joe was saying, shouted at him, ‘Don’t just stand there, man, fetch a rope for her to catch hold of. What’s she doing up there on a day like this?’

  Joe shook his head and shouted against the wind as they ran. ‘I don’t know, Will, she’s been acting that strange lately. I can’t make her out. She’s been odd for months now.’ He stopped so that Will could catch his breath. ‘I came for thee. I thought tha could talk to her, would know what to say.’

  ‘What to say? What does tha mean? We’ve got to get her down before we can talk to her. I’m afeard of ’cliff breaking away, there’s a strong tide running and ’water’s deep!’

  ‘Aye, but there’s summat strange. It’s as if she didn’t see me. As if she were somewhere else.’ He choked back a sob. ‘It’s no good, Will. She doesn’t want me. She still loves other yon chap. I’ll not keep her to ’bargain. I can’t do that to her.’

  Will stopped. He could see Sarah sitting motionless on the cliff, her red hair tangled and disarrayed, staring out to sea.

  ‘Yon chap? Which chap does tha mean?’ A pain struck his chest and he drew in his breath sharply. He was getting too old for running across cliff tops, and his leg hurt. The new boots were tight and rubbed the sore, he could feel it throbbing.

  ‘Yon Mr Rayner. She’s never stopped wanting him, I know it, though she never said. I’m not a fool.’

  ‘But he’s—’ Will put his hand to his head.

  ‘Aye, dead most like, but it won’t stop her feelings for him, will it?’ Joe’s eyes were wet. ‘Feelings don’t stop hurting just because somebody’s gone away,’ he said softly. ‘I know all about that.’

  ‘What a fool I’ve been! My own daughter, and I didn’t know, didn’t know that she was hurting inside.’ Will stumbled forward. ‘Sarah!’ he shouted. ‘Sarah! It’s all right, I’m coming, I’m coming. My poor bairn, I’m coming.’

  Startled, she turned to face them, then as she saw her father she smiled and put out her hands in a childlike gesture, as she used to when she was small and wanted him to carry her.

  Joe was the first to reach the ruins of the church, his heavy strides vibrating on the soft wet clay. He stretched out his hand to throw the rope towards Sarah and felt the ground tremble beneath him. The stonework behind him shuddered and rumbled. A wide crack appeared in the wall and he turned and watched, unable to move in a brief unconscious moment in time, as it slithered and fell towards him, striking him and pushing him into Sarah so that together they fell over the cliff to the sea below.

  ‘No!’ Will screamed, and a gull overhead caught his cry and wheeled in alarm, flying swiftly away from the heaving waters to the sanctuary of the fields and gardens surrounding Garston Hall.

  ‘No. No. Sarah!’
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  He scrambled up the mound, tripping painfully over the broken stone of the church and clawing his way over the deep fissures in the ground. He gazed helplessly over the edge at the wash of foaming brown water. Then the ground cracked below him and gave way, plummeting him down with the mass of clay and boulder stone, falling, falling into a bottomless void.

  He felt the sea close over him and drag him down, but his instinct for survival was strong and he held his breath and pushed up through the water, though his boots were heavy and pulling at him.

  His hands came into contact with something firm and he grabbed it. He felt folds of cloth wrapping around him and seaweed in his face. Then he realized that it wasn’t seaweed but Sarah’s hair. He took hold of her and pushed against her, holding her body above his, forcing her up by the strength of his arms and shoulders. He felt her slip away from him, and reached out to bring her back, felt the tightness in his chest as his lungs filled with water.

  He saw through the mist of pain some faces that he knew, and they signalled to him to come. Young Richard Bewley, what was he doing here? And Jimmy – thy Lizzie’s been right bothered about thee, Jim. And there’s a devil’s grinning face I never wished to see again, but there, he’s gone; and here’s my lovely Maria. He felt a vague sense of loss as she beckoned to him. She looks so sad, don’t cry, my lovely lass, for I’m with good friends. Here’s Rob Hardwick and his lad. I’m glad to see thee, Rob, me old mate, I was afeard tha’d gone down on ’ship. Why’s tha smiling like that? Tell us ’joke, there’s a good fellow.

  They started to move away from him and he called to them. Hey, wait on, wait for me. I’m coming. He heard a familiar comforting sound, a plaintive vibrant echo, like music, calling him. He felt the soothing rhythmic rocking of the waters carry him onwards. By, lads, it’s grand to be at sea again. This is where we belong.