English passengers (25 page)

His intention was, I supposed, to outshine Wilson’s sermonizing, and perhaps to deliver a few stabs along the way. To this end his choice seemed clever enough, mesmerism being a phenomenon of great popularity, which had filled more than a few music halls with eager watchers, delighted by the spectacle of some poor fool believing himself a donkey or bereft of a leg. I was quite intrigued myself, in fact, having never guessed the doctor was a practitioner of such an art. Rather to my surprise, however, the Manxmen seemed little pleased. For a moment I assumed they were still troubled by the presence of the sea creatures, but no, from their looks they seemed to be regarding the doctor with real dislike. I could only imagine they feared some form of joke might be played upon them. Wilson, who was sitting on a coil of rope well away
from the proceedings—having insisted that ‘‘sadly’’ he could not listen as he must attend to his sermon—had also observed the crew’s displeasure, and was visibly smirking.

Potter himself pressed on regardless. The first part of his discourse dealt with something he termed ‘‘the geography of the mind.’’ It was a subject I knew little about, and I found it interesting enough in its way. He asserted that the brain was divided into many segments, almost in the manner of an orange, each of which contained one ‘‘impulse,’’ many of these being a moral quality. These varied no less than human character itself extending from wisdom to a fondness for sweet food, and from anger to a fear of heights. The power of each impetus would alter from one man to the next, and their strength or weakness would, when combined together, define the moral character of each individual. Thus a man with pronounced impulses of bravery and loyalty would make an excellent soldier, while another, who was weak in honesty and strong in greed, would likely fall into thieving. Between different races of men, as the doctor told us, variety was far greater still, as the very structure of the brain would alter. Thus we learned that the Chinese possessed a unique impulse of delight in bright colours, while among savages of Africa there was a complete absence of the impulse of civilization.

‘‘It is mesmerism that can unlock these wonders of the mind,’’ Potter explained. ‘‘Each impulse of the brain extends to the skull, and so, once a man is brought into the correct state of entrancement, the different elements of his brain can be made to reveal themselves simply by touches of the operator’s fingers, in a fashion remarkable to behold. It is, indeed, quite as if one is playing upon the keys of an organ. Press upon the segment of fear and the subject will at once show signs of great alarm, perhaps believing that a fearful chasm has opened up in front of him. Try deceitfulness and his every utterance will be untrue. Touch confession and he will admit to all manner of secrets. Ten minutes of mesmerism can reveal a man far more truthfully than months studying his apparent nature.’’

Some of the crewmen, I noticed, were showing signs of restlessness, tapping their feet upon the deck.

‘‘Mesmerism pays no heed to titles or other grand frippery. Enchant
a pauper and you may discover him to be wiser than a lord,’’ Potter continued, undeterred. He cast a sudden glance towards the vicar: ‘‘And a simple butcher’s boy may be found richer in virtue than a priest.’’

So there was his first stab. Wilson’s smirk vanished and he buried himself in his notes.

Pleased with this little piece of violence, Potter stepped to the front of the temporary pulpit and peered down through the fog. ‘‘This, I hope, will have made clear the theory behind this most important process. The moment has now come to offer a practical demonstration, so you may see for yourselves, and for this I must ask for the assistance of a volunteer.’’

I had expected that this might prove awkward and I was not wrong. Potter smiled, and waited, only to find himself answered with a wall of silence. Soon the creaking timbers and water lapping against the ship’s side seemed loud indeed. The doctor looked quite taken aback.

‘‘Surely there is somebody?’’ Just as he was beginning to look a touch alarmed, the chief mate raised his hand. Potter broke into a smile. ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Brew.’’

‘‘Ah, but I’m not offering,’’ Brew declared, grinning in a way that looked hardly reassuring. ‘‘I’m just asking what’ll happen to the lucky body that does. Will you have him strip himself naked thinking he’s a bunny rabbit?’’

The crew let go a faint ripple of snickering.

Potter looked troubled. The very last thing he wanted was for his lecture to be turned into some kind of joke. He attempted to retrieve the mood of seriousness as best he could, assuring us all, with an awkward smile, ‘‘I have not the slightest interest in theatrical games. The fact is that mesmerism, besides being an invaluable tool of science, is also a most natural state in which to enter, being wonderfully calming to the nerves. While some persons are more susceptible than others, I do believe that there is hardly a single man or woman who cannot safely be brought into such a condition.’’

The Manxmen did not laugh at this little speech, it was true, but none of them volunteered either. So it was that the doctor made the mistake of trying to reassure us further. ‘‘It is; indeed, a process quite as
normal and healthy as sleep. Why, there are numerous recorded instances even of animals becoming mesmerized, while in some cases that I…’’

He got no further. Up went Brew’s hand like a semaphore arm. ‘‘Animals, did you say?’’ He tilted his head to one side, all dangerous innocence. ‘‘Well, there’s a thing, is there not? I wonder, Doctor, could you mesmerize one of the swineys for us then? You know, just so we can see how it’s done.’’

This brought more than just looks and snickering. Mylchreest, the steward, uttered a curious squeaking giggle and this was enough to unleash all the rest. I will admit I laughed myself, while Wilson turned about on his coil of rope, clearly delighting in the spectacle. As for Potter, he was beginning to look greatly disconcerted. He had intended this occasion to be one when he would revenge himself on his enemy, and instead found himself humiliated before the whole ship, caught in that purgatory between feigned seriousness and open ridicule. It was quite a sight, especially in one who, until now, I had never seen lose command of himself.

‘‘I’m not sure that would be useful,’’ he declared, with the stiffest of smiles.

He would have been wiser just to say a very plain no. As it was, Brew pretended to take his words as some form of encouragement, nodding his head as if in agreement. ‘‘Wouldn’t we all love to see it, though, Doctor?’’ He glanced about him, stirring the rest into agreement.

‘‘But I have no experience of any such thing,’’ Potter declared weakly.

‘‘Ah, you’re doing yourself down,’’ said Brew, now maliciously supportive. ‘‘A clever fellow like you would manage it easier than kicking.’’

I believe the doctor would have wriggled his way free even then had it not been for Captain Kewley. Until this moment he had kept aloof from the whole matter, but now he gave the surgeon a sly look. ‘‘Come along, Doctor,’’ he called out in a cheerful voice. ‘‘We ’re far too interested to be put off now. Mesmerize a swiney for us, there’s a good fellow.’’

Potter threw the Captain a desperate glance, I suppose hoping he might show pity and make a joke of his suggestion, but it was in vain. The rest of the crew were already urging him on with shouts and cheers,
and so, with as much enthusiasm as a condemned man strolling to his gibbet, he began making his way forwards through the fog. Wilson left his coil of rope to follow, as did I. Reaching the boat that served as the pigsty, the doctor looked crushed. Why, I would have felt quite sorry for him if I had not had to suffer his company through all those long weeks.

The reason that a pig had been proposed rather than any other creature was simple enough. We had eaten almost all the rest. All the bullocks were gone, and the chickens too, while of the sheep only one sorry specimen survived. Pigs were usually kept till last, being regarded as the best sailors, and three of the four animals still remained, all berthed in the main boat. As Potter and his audience gathered around this, the poor beasts showed some alarm, cowering and snorting, which was hardly surprising seeing as they had witnessed so many of their fellow animals being taken, one by one, to the front of the vessel and noisily dispatched from this world.

‘‘Don’t you go crowding them,’’ the cook, Quayle, protested, seeming the only one displeased by the turn of events. ‘‘I won’t have them upset.’’

Of the three beasts, two were sows while the third was a male, huge and sagging, with the most disquieting eyes: mournfully alert, as if he understood only too plainly the temporary nature of his situation. Potter stroked his beard, seeming now resigned to attempting the task forced upon him.

‘‘The method I will use,’’ he announced cautiously, ‘‘is the same as I have employed upon men, though there is no certainty that it will prove as effective on animals.’’

It was the male he picked, I suppose because this seemed the most humanlike of the three. He reached out towards the creature, looking it firmly in the eye, and then began passing his hands about its head in a kind of stroking movement, though without ever quite touching its skin. Whether this was part of his technique, or simple avoidance of the mud and worse with which the animal was caked, was hard to know. As for the pig itself it flinched away at first, but then gradually seemed to grow calmer, and after a time appeared even to be quite enjoying the process, meeting the doctor’s mesmerizing stare with a dozy look of its own. Gradually the movements of Potter’s hands extended, until they reached
halfway down the creature’s back and he was leaning right into the boat. Then, peering determinedly at the beast, he drew back.

‘‘The animal,’’ he announced, suddenly proud, ‘‘is now entranced.’’

This won a hush of respect, and surprise too. Before the doctor could proceed any further, though, the creature uttered a loud snort and began sniffing among the pieces of muck and old food at the bottom of the boat. Potter ignored the sniggers that followed, now looking serious. It seemed the exercise had now caught his curiosity, causing him to forget his earlier reluctance. ‘‘There is another method that I can try which may prove more suitable to animals,’’ he declared. ‘‘This involves the subject intently staring at an object until entranced.’’

My curiosity was how the pig would know that he was supposed to stare at anything. In the event, I never discovered. Potter’s mistake, as I see it now, was that he did not arrange matters before he started. He was too impatient to place the creature once again into a receptive state— which he did with the same stroking and staring as before—and it was only when the animal began to respond, looking dozy, that he troubled himself with what mesmerizing object he would use.

‘‘What I now need,’’ he said in a soft voice, never turning from the pig’s small, doleful eyes, ‘‘is something bright and reflective. Anything of polished metal will do.’’

For a moment the Manxmen looked at one another, uncertain. Then the chief mate, Brew, reached to his waistband. It is possible, of course, that his choice was just accident, but considering the man’s character this seemed unlikely. He passed the object into the outstretched hand and then, as Potter brought this before him, both he and the pig found themselves looking at a long, shining knife.

The doctor saw the danger at once, pulling the blade back to hide it from the animal’s sight, but it was too late. I had no idea that a pig could make so great a noise. All at once the air became filled with a hideous squealing: a sound of pure, rawest fear. At the same instant he began plunging irresistibly about the longboat, quite like some steam locomotive, with the sows following just behind, their pen rocking violently from side to side, hay spilling into the air like coal dust, and the metal tubs that held their food banging and crashing as they were hurled back and forth. The Manxmen did their best to retrieve the situation, leaning
forward with outstretched arms, but the fact is that three pigs in full flight are not easily stopped, especially when they are slippery with mud and dung. The wiser policy might well have been simply to leave the poor creatures be, as every grabbing hand encouraged their panic. Finally, though, the sows were halted, and then China Clucas, the ship’s giant, managed to catch the main beast by its tail, and though all three screeched dreadfully, the scene in the pen began to show signs of greater calm.

As to what followed, even now I could not say if it bore any connection with what had just occurred, or if it was merely a coincidence of timing. It seemed to follow, certainly, but the mind will sometimes play tricks at such a moment of excitement, seeing unconnected events as so many links in a chain. In truth I could not even say if sea creatures possess the power of hearing, let alone if they concern themselves with sounds emerging from beyond their watery domain. The fact remained, however, that hardly had the pigs been stilled when there was a momentous watery crash from somewhere beyond the port bow. We never saw what ocean acrobatics the beast had got up to, on account of the fog, but the consequence was clear as could be. The ship, which had been still as land, began suddenly and violently rolling.

For a moment I thought we had suffered nothing worse than surprise. A ship, after all, is well used to a bit of tipping. Then, though, I became aware of the excited chattering in Manx on the further side of the boat, and realized they were all looking at Clucas’ arm, which he was holding with his hand in a curious way, and I saw blood was spilling out between his fingers. The pig he had caught had toppled clean against him when the ship rolled, and he must have caught his wrist against a jagged corner of the creatures’ water tub. Clucas himself looked pale as a ghost.

It is curious how swiftly a mood can alter. One moment we were engaged upon what was, if truth be told, an unkind joke. Half an instant later all were grave faces. The greatest change, though, came to Potter. All at once he was transformed from dupe to hero.

‘‘Have my case brought,’’ he commanded. So he set to work.