To the Ends of the Earth (25 page)

So, while the crew laboured to undo the work which Deverel and Willis had achieved between them by a few seconds’ inattention, I lay and waited for the throbbing in my head to cease which it partly did at length but only when I had got to sleep. The last thing I remember
thinking
before I slept was what a wealth of unexpected
experience
had come to me through that simple phrase “taken aback!”

But strangely, once in my bunk I felt myself compelled to stay there and that not just for an hour or two but days and nights. Summers sometimes brought me news of our state. We were now being borne back with an awful inevitability into the doldrums again: for if our vessel when fully rigged could make little way against the wind, in her crippled state she was helpless. Nor could we hope to set the same full sails as before. Our foremast was found to be sprung, said Summers. And the reduction in sail area was more than equal to the improvement made by the scrubbing he was now able to give to that fringe of weed all round us at the waterline. It was another of those metaphors perhaps, a “set back”. Three more days passed before I was able to get up for more than the most necessary of purposes. It was a tottering Edmund who at last made his way into the waist. We were, I found at once, back in a wilderness of heat,
stillness
and mist. Our very bowsprit was out of sight and if I was able to see the tops of our masts it was only because they were now lower than before. The setting up of new topmasts, as Summers assured me, was a business which was taxing the resources of the ship both in timber and muscle power. Meantime we were helpless.

The fourth day, however, saw me more nearly recovered, and we soon had affairs that put all thought of soreness out of my head. I was awakened by Phillips and grunted him away even after I had heard him pour the water into my canvas basin. The air was close and seemed as humid and tepid as the water. As I rose more nearly to the surface of awareness I sadly recalled the wettest and greyest days of winter—rain, hail, snow, sleet—anything 
but this idling and crowded monotony! I was, not to put too fine a point on it, searching in my mind for any good reason why I should get out of my bunk at all when I heard a distant cry. I could not distinguish the words but they did not seem to come from the level of the deck. Moreover, that cry was followed by a shouted hail from nearly over my head, and another distant reply to it. I heard a rumbling roar from the quarterdeck which could only be Anderson himself, in his customary mood of
belligerent
admonition. Clearly there was a change in our circumstances and it could only be for the better. Wind, perhaps! I got myself out of my bunk with some effort and I was already in shirt and pantaloons when I heard a most extraordinary hubbub from the passengers all crowding through the lobby. I had eased myself into my coat when, with only the most cursory of taps, Deverel flung the door of my hutch open. But this was no longer the stiff and remote man consumed inwardly by the fires of his own shame and resentment! His eyes sparkled, his face, his whole bearing bespoke pleasure and animation. I saw to my astonishment that he held his scabbarded sword in his left hand.

“Talbot, old fellow! By God, Talbot! I have a way out of my difficulties! Come with me!”

“I was about to go on deck. But what is it?”

“Why, man, did you not hear? A sail!”

“The devil! Let us hope she is one of ours!”

“Where is your spirit, man? They spied her royals and they are white as a lady’s kerchief! She is an enemy, depend on it!”

“Summers promised us the French were quite beat down—”

“Oh, that! Why, did you expect a fleet action? But a single ship—Boney may have sent a flyer to intercept us—but Frog, damned Yankee, Dutchman is all one—a bloody 
battle pays all debts—lucky at women and war, that’s your honourable John!”

“This may advance your career, Deverel, and I am happy for you—but as for me—the devil take all Frenchmen!”

Deverel had not waited for my last words and I must own they were not in the heroic vein. But freshly out of my bunk and hardly healed of a sore head—a man who could immediately act the hero at such a moment would be a veritable Nelson. However, I recollected myself and made my way into the waist. Our passengers were grouped, or I might say huddled, against the break of the quarterdeck. The emigrants were similarly huddled against the break of the fo’castle. The silence was complete in our universe which the mist reduced to no more than a portion of our ship. Summers stood on the quarterdeck with
Cumbershum
. Captain Anderson was leaning over the rail of the poop and listening to Cumbershum who was speaking in what for him were moderate tones.

“The man is a fool, sir, and cannot properly indicate a bearing. I have sent Mr Taylor aloft with instructions to say nothing but point at her if he should get a glimpse.”

“She gave no indication of having seen us?”

“No, sir. But with two topmasts down there is some chance of us avoiding her.”

“Avoiding her, Mr Cumbershum? I do not like that word ‘avoiding’. I shall not avoid her, sir. If we should come together and she is an enemy, I shall fight.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Mr Summers—we have six great guns on either beam. Can we man them all with seasoned men?”

“No sir. Hardly one side, in fact, not with the boats in the water at stem and stern and parties on deck to repel boarders. I am having the nets brought up now, sir. But for the rest—Mr Taylor is signalling.”

Mr Taylor was visible above us in the mist. He clung to 
a quite indescribable jumble at the top of the mainmast. Captain Anderson peered into the binnacle.

“Southeast I think.”

“With respect, sir, from here Mr Taylor appears to be pointing more to the east.”

“Boats in the water, Mr Summers. Then bring her round. I think we might prolong our period of preparation by towing away nor’west.”

“Debatable, sir.”

“The merest cat’s paw could throw all. No, Mr Summers. Bring her round.”

“Aye aye, sir. Mr Deverel—”

The orders followed thick and fast. I could not follow the tenth of them. I heard the ladies instructed as to the way down to the orlop deck and told they must retire there immediately if so commanded. They seemed to be quite extraordinarily composed. Miss Granham looked capable of repelling boarders with her expression. Mr Prettiman, for an avowed Republican if not Jacobin, had an air of indignant truculence which might stem from sheer
wonder
as to what his attitude should be. Had I not been depressed and irritated by this possibly quick termination to the career of Edmund Talbot, I should have liked to put the question to him. But there was no talk among us. We stood dumb, then by common consent drifted back to the passenger saloon where there was, I observed with
interest
, some slight consumption of wine before the meal as well as during it. I endeavoured to put off my own
weakness
and recurrent pain in order to raise the spirits of the company by declaring that since two ships in such an ocean would have difficulty in finding each other
intentionally
there was absolutely no prospect of us coming together by accident. But if we did, said I, why then we must fight; and I hereby lift my glass in a toast to victory! But never was there a sadder and less martial gathering! 
All that happened was that little Pike flung down his knife and fork and burst into tears.

“My children, oh, my children! Little Arabella! Poor Phoebe!”

His wife laid her hand on his shoulder to comfort him. I spoke to him bluffly, as man to man.

“Come, Pike, never fear, man! We are in this together and shall give a good account of ourselves! As for your
little
girls, be easy—they are far too young for the French!”

I must own that this last remark was unfortunate in its implication. Mrs Pike burst into noisy sobs. Zenobia and Mrs Brocklebank shrieked in unison. Miss Granham laid down her knife and fork and fixed me with eyes of stone.

“Mr Talbot,” she said. “You have excelled yourself.”

“I only mean—”

But Prettiman was speaking.

“Do not believe the stories that are so current concerning the behaviour of the French, sir. They are as civilized as we. We may expect to be treated with the same and indeed more generosity and liberality than we should treat them!”

“Are we to stand about and be herded like sheep? Mr Bowles, you have some experience in the law, I believe.”

“A solicitor’s clerk, sir.”

“May we civilians not fight?”

“I had considered the matter. I believe we passengers may ‘run up a gun’, as it is called, which entails hauling on a rope. We could plead compulsion. But seen on deck with sword and pistol in hand and we are legally entitled to have our throats cut.”

“You are matter-of-fact,” said I. “You might even be called cold-blooded.”

“There is a way out of it, sir. I have considered that too. Passengers could volunteer, be sworn in, be entered on the ship’s books, as it is called. I am not certain what the situation would be over naval pay in that event.” 

Nevertheless, I observed that his hands were quivering slightly. “A glass of wine with you, Mr Bowles! You show us all where our duty lies.”

Miss Granham was pleased to smile her Minerva’s moonlit smile on me.

“A noble resolve, Mr Talbot. I am sure I speak for the ladies in saying that we are all much easier in our minds for it.”

There were noises of agreement and some laughter. But then her fiancé, the comic Prettiman, cried out above it with the passionate voice which often rises from his involvement with the philosophy of government.

“No, no, no! With respect, Miss Granham—Mr Talbot, how can you volunteer before you know what enemy we face? Suppose that ship to be no cruel emissary of a tyrant but one that has thrown off his yoke and now serves the land of liberty itself? Suppose she is from the United States of America?”

“What does that matter?” said I. “We are at war with America!”

That stopped the philosopher with his mouth still open and there was a babble of argument.

“Will you volunteer, Mr Bowles?”

“On terms, Mr Talbot.”

“I must own to finding the prospect of engaging with a Yankee ship less exhilarating than battle with the French. After all, the Yankees are our own men—what the devil! That confounded rascal Paul Jones had more British
seamen
in his ship than American!”

“And the Dutch?”

“Let them all come. We shall make a notable defence. You, Mr Bowles, will shed any blood provided the
agreement
is precise. Mr Prettiman will aid us against the French or Dutch or pirates or even slavers though he will spare any American who should be rash enough to come in his way.” 

There was, as I had hoped, renewed laughter at this. But it was interrupted from a most unexpected source. Little Pike leapt to his feet and positively bawled at me as if he had fallen into the hysterics.

“How can you joke so? What does it matter what ship is out there hidden in the mist except that she has guns and may shoot them at us? I will fight as well as any man here whatever his degree. But I will not fight for my country! I am leaving it! I will not fight for my ship or my king or my captain. But I will fight against any ship and any country in the world in defence of my, my family—”

He burst into noisy sobs which were only too audible in the silence which had fallen as he spoke. Miss Granham stretched out a hand to him, then took it back again. Mrs Pike pressed his hand against her cheek. He sat down and his sobs died away but slowly. I believe most people had their eyes fixed on their plates at this most un-English
display
of emotion. I thought it high time we came down from our flights of martial fancy and hysterics. Exhausted as I was, I felt it my duty to persevere.

“Come,” said I. “Let us consider the situation. There may be a ship, her sails seen for a few seconds in the mist. Most likely she is not concerned with us. Most likely she has not seen us. After all, our topmasts are down. If she sees us—why, we are a Royal Navy ship of the line to all
appearances
, the most feared, the most fearful of all the engines of destruction in this modern century! Believe me, the chances of an engagement are remote. If I myself have seemed thoughtlessly exhilarated by the prospect of battle, I beg the pardon of those of our company who are responsible for more lives than their own. But depend upon it. A thousand to one we shall neither meet nor see that ship again.”

“I fear it is not so.”

I looked up, startled, my head again stabbed with a dagger of pain. Summers stood just inside the door, hat in hand. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, for all Mr Talbot’s laudable efforts to calm your natural apprehensions, I fear it is not so. That ship, whatever she is, is becalmed as we are. In a prolonged calm, I mean of days or even weeks, ships are drawn together by the mutual attraction of heavy objects when nothing holds them apart but a smooth and readily divided fluid. If the wind does not get up we shall be drawn together until we lie side by side.”

Now the silence was deadly.

“Charles, I do not find this credible.”

“It is true, nevertheless. Captain Anderson believes that you are better able to conduct yourselves with propriety if the plain facts are laid before you. We have as you know sighted, or rather glimpsed, a ship which may or may not have sighted us. She may be French, sent to intercept us—”

Brocklebank interrupted him.

“How the devil would they know?”

Summers looked at me.

“Depend upon it,” said I, “their Ministry of Marine will know as much about us as we do!”

“The French then,” said Bowles. “Boney must have designs of conquest on the Antipodes!”

“He’s too busy in Russia for that,” said I. “What about the Yankees, Charles?”

“All we are sure of is that those white sails cannot be British.”

“What are we to do then? The gentlemen here have engaged themselves to help you in what way they can.”

Summers smiled.

“I expected no less and will provide you all with suitable employment. Mr Askew, the gunner, is rigging some very pretty fireworks with quick match and small parcels of gunpowder. Together with our few great guns they may give the appearance of a full broadside from the engaged side of our ship provided the enemy sees us dimly through 
the mist. We must hope that one thump will make him tow off, for we must look ugly enough.”