English passengers (19 page)

I found myself much intrigued by the many curious ways of shipboard life. Why, I quite wished I could understand the crew’s strange
Celtic language—vile though it sounded—as they frequently spoke it when I was near, and always with such cheerful laughter that I would gladly have given a penny to know the subject of their happy bantering. They were, I observed, a people of strong and yet puzzling traditions. They quite insisted, for example, that we must never call the pigs aboard the vessel by their correct name, but should instead refer to them always as ‘‘swineys,’’ as a matter of some seagoing protocol, though this seemed a most foolish requirement, and I quite wondered if they might be playing a joke upon their new passengers. Then again I observed the
Sincerity
to be a place of no small formality, where every man had his exact post, quite as in some court of law. The Captain and the chief mate, Brew, would be found on the quarterdeck, to the rear of the vessel, where Kewley would have pride of place on the windward side, giving him a clear view forwards, with all the great sails billowing away. This was despite the fact that he himself rarely issued an order to the crew, such work being the preserve of Mr. Brew, who had to suffer the leeward side of the deck, from where it was hard to see anything except vast curtains of canvas stretching up to heaven. If, however, the Captain went below, then Brew would at once usurp his position.

Forward of the quarterdeck one would find the crew, and the second mate, Kinvig, angrily issuing instructions. His rank seemed much inferior to Brew’s and he was often required to clamber into the rigging with the crew, while Brew hardly stirred from his comfortable spot upon deck. Further forward still lay the galley, a kind of rough hut upon the deck, which was the workplace of the cook, Quayle: a moody soul, who seemed to find companionship only in the shipboard animals. These beasts, I should explain, were numerous—at least at the start of the jour-ney—and were housed in the various ship’s boats, though it did occur to me that this was not the best arrangement, as, were the
Sincerity
to strike disaster, it would be no easy thing speedily to remove four bullocks from the long boat.

Prevention is better than cure, of course, and I was ever impressed by the concern shown towards the maintenance of the ship, which seemed to consume the majority of the working time of the crew. The deck was thoroughly scrubbed down as many as three times each day, which struck me as obsessively cleanly, until I learned that it was to prevent the
planks from shrinking, which would permit water to seep below. To the same end the crewmen were frequently to be found hammering strands of old rope between the planks and pouring on hot pitch as a seal. Each and every rope of the ship’s rigging was regularly examined, and perhaps painted with tar, while constant adjustments were made to maintain their tautness: a painstaking business, as the ropes formed quite a cat’s cradle, and to tighten one invariably meant altering half a dozen others thereafter. There were frequent expeditions aloft to oil the blocks, through which the ropes moved, or to chip and repaint the ironwork. It seemed, altogether, that no sooner had some lengthy chore been completed than the order would be given for it to be begun all over again.

When not busy with such drudgery the crew either would be found in a state of semi-somnolence, dozing in the sun and smoking pipes, or would be high in the rigging, engaged in some display of skill worthy of circus acrobats. Often and again they would clamber, in hardly more than an instant, to a dizzy height above the deck, where it was a mystery to me how they managed to cling on at all. On one occasion the ship met an especially heavy swell that caused it to roll like a fearful seesaw, wildly tipping from side to side, so that the ends of the yards actually dipped into the ocean, and though it was hard for me even to keep my place just upon the deck, still the crew carried on quite as usual. One of them, whose place was at the very edge of the mainsail spar, was repeatedly plunged waist-deep in seawater, only to find himself a moment later propelled skywards as the vessel righted itself, until he was higher almost than the crow’s nest, with the whole ship leaning crazily beneath him. All the while he was quietly at work fastening a rope.

It was, as it happened, as I looked upon the men on that day, and witnessed their perilous toil, that a most pleasing notion occurred to me. I dare say that for many men there is some special activity that is essential if they are to feel a sense of completion in life. For some this may be adventure, or the pursuit of wealth. For others it might be family bliss and the comfort of routine. As for myself, nothing is quite so pleasing as the prospect of honest work, through which I may bring a little joy and comfort into the lives of others.

I wasted no time but mentioned my idea to Captain Kewley that same afternoon. Convincing the Captain of anything was never easy, as,
like his compatriots, he possessed an obstinate reluctance to be impressed by another’s enthusiasm. A favourite word of the Manxmen was
middling,
which they used to display a seemingly limitless absence of concern in anything. If some furious typhoon were to strike, threatening to sink the ship, they would likely say only that it was
middling bad weather.
If there occurred a wondrous tropical sunset with colours to dazzle the eyes, it would be only
middling fine.
Why, if the four angels of destruction themselves were to appear before a Manxman, toppling mountains like so many flowerpots, I dare say he would think them only
middling troublesome.
With this in mind, I should not perhaps have been surprised by Kewley’s response to my proposal.

‘‘Sunday sermons, eh?’’

‘‘I feel it is nothing less than my duty,’’ I explained. ‘‘These men who face danger every day would, I believe, find no little comfort in their being brought closer to the word of God.’’

Kewley frowned. ‘‘I dare say it’s harmless enough.’’

It was, at least, no prohibition, and this was enough for my purpose. I set to work with cheerful determination. Before I could begin labouring on the sermon itself there were a number of small matters to which I had to attend. It seemed only right, for example, that I should be provided with a few simple shelves placed in the cabin, on which I might keep my books, my papers and writing implements. Likewise, the table in the dining cabin being irretrievably gashed and stained with grease for my purposes, I proposed that a tiny desk be attached to the dining cabin wall. The Captain, though he grumbled, eventually agreed to have the carpenter work upon these, and soon afterwards it occurred to me that it would be delightful to have a little platform constructed, perhaps upon the quarterdeck, together with a stand for the Good Book itself which would serve as a kind of sea pulpit and sea lectern. What was more, it seemed only logical to have constructed a number of simple yet sturdy benches, so the crew might listen in modest comfort. Here, however, the Captain proved wholly uncooperative.

‘‘I’m not having any deck of mine turned into some floating chapel,’’ he insisted, in a tone of voice that was, I regret to tell, hardly polite. ‘‘This is a ship, not a preaching house.’’

Sad to say, he was not the only one whose help in these little matters
proved wanting. Dr. Potter became quite sulky when my little writing desk was set onto the wall, as—by purest chance—it happened to lie just behind his place at the dining table, and he made the greatest fuss that it interfered with his sitting. His mood did not even improve later when I tried to raise his spirits, sitting down beside him on his cot and quietly praying for the Lord to help us to find that kindliness that lay somewhere in every man’s heart. In fact he seemed if anything to grow worse. It was about this time, indeed, that I began to wonder if such a man was suited to take part in an expedition of such great importance as our own.

The Celtic Type (instance: Manx) is altogether inferior in physique to the Saxon, being smaller, darker and lacking in strength. Typically the forehead is sloping, showing evidence of the ‘‘snout’’ characteristic, noted by Pearson as an indication of inferior intelligence. The skull is marked by deep eye sockets, expressing tendencies of servitude. Cranial type: G.

As to his general character, the Celt is wanting in the industriousness and nobility of spirit of his Saxon neighbour, his dominating characteristic being indolence. He is content to wait upon events rather than moulding them, and suffers a fatal patience, hoping that fortune may smile upon him. In his favour it can be observed that the Celt possesses a rude sense of creativity (instance: songs and stories). He also possesses a simple physical courage, which has provided him with his most enduring role, as the foot soldier of the Saxon.

The moral qualities of the Celt are poor, being characterized by idleness and resignation. Towards foreigners he is clannish and habitually secretive, preferring to converse in his own primitive tongue (instance: Manx) though he may be perfectly capable of speaking in English.

In conclusion, the Celt has his place at the lowest station within the European Division. This is indicated not only by his physical and moral qualities but also in his dismal history, which is typified by disorder, disunity and decline. It may be assumed that within the womb the development
of the Celtic embryo is arrested after no more than thirty-six weeks, or a full three weeks sooner than the Saxon.

The Norman (instance: priesthood, aristocracy and monarchy of England) is similar in physique to the Saxon, though on close examination he will be found to be slighter and altogether lacking in the latter’s rugged hardiness. His complexion is pale, and his hair often inclines to reddishness. His facial shape is typically long and narrow, indicating arrogance. Cranial type: D.

The character of the Norman is one of decline. He has ever relied on inherited advantage, a state of affairs dating back to the lucky accident of conquest. He is idle and lacking in any spirit of industry or application. Likewise he is prone to weaknesses from which sturdier types would not suffer (instance: seasickness). He is entirely without creative talents.

The morality of the Norman is poor, being typified by concealed selfishness. His dominating characteristic is cunning. He strives to maintain himself at an exalted station within society through scheming manipulation with others of his race. Any display of moral purpose will be fabrication. The Norman is, most of all, of a parasitical nature, feeding upon the simple kindliness of nobler types.

In conclusion, the Norman place is hardly higher than the Celt within the European Division. The development of the Norman embryo can be assumed to be arrested after thirty-seven weeks, or two weeks fewer than the Saxon. The Norman’s enduring control of that triple curse of Aristocracy, Priesthood and Monarchy can be ascribed not to his ability but to the great abhorrence, among his Saxon subjects, of any form of disorder.

S
O THERE WE WERE
, stood on the deck in the hot sun, waiting for the wondrous joy of Wilson’s sermon. The one consolation was that at least there would be something to keep my eyes occupied while the old goat
stuttered on. The lookout had called out the news just an hour or two before, with a great shout of ‘‘Land ho.’’ It was hard to see what he was crowing about at first, the day being so hazy, and only when I screwed up my eyes tight could I make out a faint line just above where the horizon should be. With time, though, the line grew darker and easier to catch until, quite suddenly, it turned itself into a good-sized piece of land, not even very far away, with cliffs and hills.

It might not sound much to anyone spoilt for solid ground, I dare say, but after all those weeks without anything to look upon except wind and water and seabirds, it was as welcome as could be. Others may like the thought of sitting aboard some ship for months at a time, but not me, and I would have given more than a little to be magicked to Haymarket, for a drop of fine liquor and perhaps a little intimate company from the wrong kind of female.

The company I had could hardly have been more different. It seemed ever to be my fate to be surrounded by people who thought they knew every answer. My parents, and my brother Jeremy too, were always ready to deliver a disapproving lecture upon the virtue of hard work and my need to improve myself, while my fellow expedition members delighted in exactly the same game. The one point upon which they seemed agreed, indeed, was that I was lazy and foolish and should be treated as their junior. Wilson was the worst, and was forever making scornful remarks as to my reluctance to raise myself from sleep at the hour of dawn.

It was not as if I had even wanted to come on this voyage.

‘‘A little hardship should knock some sense into you,’’ my father had promised kindly.

My mother was not to be outdone. ‘‘It is our hope that it may also help you gain a greater sense of the spiritual.’’

All I had gained till now was a greater sense of boredom. Six weeks we had been sailing, and still we were hardly started. I had long read the few books I had brought, and read them once again. I would have borrowed more, but Wilson had only the driest tomes, either theological or geological, while Potter had brought no books at all, seeming content to scribble his endless notes. I even tried to pass time by making friends with the Manxmen, but with no great success. They might join me in
smoking a pipe or two, but they would always keep themselves a little distant, and would suddenly break into Manx among themselves, as if to discourage me from remaining too long.

Land was a welcome enough sight, certainly. I wondered how many days I would have still to wait before I might stride into Kingston, and be free of my tiresome colleagues.

‘‘So which of the Indies is this?’’ I asked the Captain as we regarded the new shore. I was hoping it might be Jamaica itself