Hollow Sea (53 page)

And without another word O'Grady got up and left the room. He stopped at the door to ask, 'Want it shut, open on the hook, Bosun?'

'No, shut it,' the bosun said.

'Sure.' The door slammed. O'Grady returned to the fo'c'sle.

'Getting near five bells,' Turner was saying.

'Aye! But don't over worry yourself,' Williams said. 'You know everything is crazy flat since this ship turned her behind on the Turkish coast. Can't we do something? What about a game of cards?'

'There's Tyrer coming out of his room. I can always tell the way he slams his door,' Vesuvius said, half hanging out of his bunk.

'Tell me something, friends,' he cried aloud, 'where's those other fellers got to? I haven't seen a single one of the watch come for'ard.'

'They're down in the 'tween-decks, collecting rubbish. Soon's we put this chap down to the water we got to go below and carry on the cleaning up,' O'Grady said, 'and findings is keepings, fellers.'

'Hell of a lot you'll find down there,' Turner growled.

'Reckon Mr. Hump found something nice down that way the other night,' Vesuvius said. 'D'you ever see such a comical-looking bastard as him with his top-hat on? My! His chief, bless his belly, he wasn't half in a rage. He said no night prayers that night.'

He climbed down to the deck, sat down on the form, ran his fingers through his hair.

'All right fellers.' The bosun was calling them out.

One after another they slouched their way over the step, assembled on the well-deck.

Mr. Tyrer counted them. 'Where's the others?'

'Hanging about, I reckon,' Williams said. 'Some are asleep still.'

'Right. Get on the poop, O'Grady and Turner. You, Williams and Vesuvius, take the man from the wheel-house to the poop. I'll be there.'

He went up the alleyway calling loudly, 'Show a leg there, you men. Show a leg there. Sleeping away what damn brains you got.'

He stood there waiting for signs of life. He heard the others dragging their feet aft. He saw a leg appear, then a head, then a man jumped out of his bunk.

'Coming, Bosun,' this man said. 'Coming.'

'I should bloody well think so. But remember all the good men are already on the poop. We're waiting for fellers like you. Hurry up.'

He went to the end of the alleyway, but stopped there. He would not go farther until he saw the remainder of the watch moving along in front of him. Whilst he waited he looked across the waters, looked as O'Grady had looked, and Williams and Vesuvius. There was nothing to see except water.

Were they really in the bloody wilderness? Were they really going round in circles? Were they really moving? And when were they going to see some signs of life? Another ship maybe. That damn bell hadn't rung in the nest for days. He was certain of that. Hadn't he been listening all the time, listening whilst lying on his bunk, listening and wondering like the rest of them? A cakewalk for those fellers on the look-out job and no mistake. A cakewalk. And no dirty business for them. Oh no. Well, he was getting used to seeing good men going over the side. It couldn't mean anything much to him now. Besides, a man couldn't be keeping his mind shut up, holding the one thing in it all the time. A man had to break free sometime, climb above the ship and all the goddam water, and think of something other than a war, and a decoy ship and a bleeder and a crusader's ship, and a loonies' ship, yes, a man had to do that sometimes.

'I ask him, "What is happening?" and he says, "We're moving along."
 
'

'I ask another, "What you think about all the different rumours?" and he says, "Nothing. No man what's wise thinks anything, just does his job, keeps his gob shut, minds no business but his own."
 
'

'I ask meself,'
 
"What's happening, Bosun?" and my mind says, "Why that you're sailing home to your missus."
 
'

He was laughing now.

'Ah! so you're out at bloody last. Get along there, for Christ's sake. Think the whole ship's going to be held up whilst you rub the muck out of your eyes? What's wrong with you fellers is you've got too much on your mind. And when a man has too much on his mind it means he hasn't enough work to do. You'll get right up to the poop and the others'll be waiting there for you. We're putting that young steward over and I hope to God it's the last. A man can stand a lot sometimes, but not always. But of course if you're one of these thinking men like the Captain or Mr. Deveney you can't stand nothing.'

He pushed the man in front of him. The men quickened their pace. When they reached the poop the engines had already stopped.

'This'll put us back about two hours, I reckon,' one of them said.

'Shut your gob, and get up there.'

'Aye,' thought Mr. Tyrer. 'They may well say it. Two solid hours yesterday putting corpses over and all that dark and the bloody stink. Maybe I say too much to these chaps. Reckon I'll say less in future. Some men wouldn't stand for it, of course. They're a good crowd. Only thing is if this goes on like it does old Walters'll have no bloody booze left for them to drink. Dear me! I remember that young chap well. Nice lad he was. I used to see him early of a morning running down the ladder with piddle-pots and clothes and rolls of bandages. Silly feller, though. Ah, well! We're all made different, I suppose. It can't be helped. It must be done.'

A bell rang. A bell for which he had been listening this past twenty-four hours, and now he no longer heard it. He climbed the ladder after his men.

They were gathered there, round the bundle.

Suddenly Mr. Tyrer stood quite still on the deck, away from the group, stood looking at the wood, the newly caulked deck.

'I have a son his age,' he said to himself. 'Just his age. Well! Well!'

Then he joined the group gathered there, looked at Mr. Ericson.

But he did not know that Mr. Ericson was thinking of Else. Thinking of Else as he stood over the man wrapped in canvas, weighted with firebars that would bind him to the bed of the ocean. Mr. Tyrer thought that Mr. Ericson looked sad today. He called him then.

'All right, Bosun. Get ready.'

'Yes, sir,'

'Take him up, men. Stand by now. Ready, sir,' Mr. Tyrer said.

'Six-seventy-eight miles NW. Fastnet,' one said.

'No?'

'Yes.'

'Tell that to the marines.'

'Six-seventy-eight I tell you.'

'The decks are washed down,' one said.

'The hatches are battened down.'

'
 
'Tween decks cleaned out and mountains of rubbish there.'

'Doing sixteen and a half now I'll bet my bottom dollar.'

'Shipshape and fancy. In a minute you'll hear all kinds of bells.'

'And they've collected so far, twenty-nine pounds eight shillings and twopence halfpenny for Marvel's missus. Not bad, I reckon.'

'Here's the sun.'

'Have it all to yourself, feller-me-lad.'

'Six-seventy-eight. Ah! You can always tell. Look at the colour of the water. And look at the way Rochdale goes about. That's enough for me and for any man. He can smell Lancashire, that man can.'

'My Judy won't know I'm coming. I'll catch her on the Q.T. That'll be funny, because I had a letter from a feller I know and he told me she's trimming somebody else's wick while you're up the Dardanelles.'

'Less talk there and get them hoses coiled up, you men.'

'But I thought we were going on a cruise to the South Seas. Oh, I am bloody well disappointed.'

'Less talk there, I said.'

'She's spick and span so what the hell. Sixteen-and-half did you say. Lord! I'll be picking up shekels this time on Thursday.'

'Get them hoses for'ard, you.'

'Sir to me, Bosun. I'm a respectable man. When I break wind I don't stand on the weather side like some men do.'

'Get them brushes gathered up, and them holystones. Take everything for'ard.'

'Everything?'

'Yes, everything, you silly bastard. Will I be glad to see your backs, don't ask me? Will I be glad to see your bloody backs?'

'Will you?'

'My backside on the lot of you,' the bosun said. He went for'ard, swearing to himself. Out this minute, in the next. Time was all over the place. Words didn't mean what they meant yesterday. You got mixed up with everything, as if your mind were going round in circles. And that fellow bound fast in how many hundred fathoms? Oh, he didn't know. Work was finished. Men were following after him, talking. Work was finished. Nothing else to do but talk. They went for'ard, the sun upon their backs, slouching, unhurried, their shadows dancing before them on quick drying decks.

The sun shone, poured over A.10, through rooms, through open ports, but not through saloon windows. These were shut. Men talking behind them. Men lying silent there, sprawled, on sides and backs, seated, upright, lying on their bellies, some sleeping, some waking.

Stewards rushed here and there, carrying things, their hands were full, full of charitable things, and they were silent. Moving this way and that and the same look for every one.

Mr. Hump and Mr. Walters bent forward there, a thin back, a stout back, drab clothes, bent over a man.

He was flat, stretched, eyes closed, forehead furrowed by sweat. The steward came. He pressed a towel on the man's face, wiped sweat and dirt, feeling Mr. Walters's breath upon the back of his neck, Mr. Hump humming low in his throat. Wiped sweat from the forehead, but not seeing the forehead, nor thinking of the forehead, only braces dangling and a man under them, and feet dragging the floor, and the spell cast for him. Wiping a sweaty forehead, and no muscle moving there, and the three of them bending lower over this man, foil to rage once, and laurels for others in Byzantium.

'That's seven towels in the past eight hours, sir.'

'God! I don't like the look of this man, Mr. Hump.'

'No. No. I say shut that damn, blasted port, will you? One stands looking at him, but you can't help listening to what fools talk about sometimes.'

'Yes. Close the bloody thing,' Walters said.

'Yes, sir.' He left the towel covering the face. It was dirty now.

'He'll have to go aft with the other four, Mr. Hump,' Mr. Walters said. 'He'll have to go right away. God! I don't like the look of this man. And it's bad for the others, seeing nothing but him, and no bells for them to hear. These poor, mad – oh, hell.'

'If the sun lasts we'll take them out, sir?' Mr. Hump said thicky, clearing his throat at the same time.

He lifted the towel from the face.

'Out, yes,
OUT
,' Mr. Walters said. 'All out. Sun on their faces, air in their lungs, sky to gaze at, and humming engines in their ears and they'll know she moves, they're still alive, Mr. Hump! We must move this man.'

'The ports were closed, sir.'

'Oh, yes. Open them again then, will you,' Mr. Walters said. 'I said we must get this man aft.'

He began stamping his foot then.

'Yes, of course. I heard what you said, Mr. Walters,' Hump replied.

'Then get aft and make a place ready for him.' He called, 'Crilly, Sloane, Devine, Brown, Noland, Dickson!'

They came running to him.

'Get these men outside. The sun has come.'

The sky is clear, blue, streaked here and there by patches of transparent white cloud, the sky is a great sweeping curve and A.10 is moving towards it. The sea is calm, or a gentle silken swell, its surface sheened by the sun, the sun is everywhere, deluging A.10 from stem to stern, from the eyes of her to the poop.

Blinding Rochdale high in air, and brilliant brass of binnacle and telegraphs burn under the light. Warmth touches men in the fo'c'sle and in rooms, touches silent helmsman and pacing officer, floods alleyways, brightens what was dark, lightens the heavy drab of closed hatch and house. Light catches waves, sinks with them, makes dust of foam. The sun pours everywhere, is hidden from others. These are below. There other suns burn, congealing sweat. Sound, not sun, is emperor there. The bow cleaves water, the iron fish astern measures time and distance.

The clouds move swiftly, so deepening space, and horizon's line catches the fan wise rays of the sun. The officer walks the bridge, his shadow dances, he is clothed in the sun. 'Six-seventy-eight NW. of Fastnet,' he says, then turns about, watching his shadow dance on before him.

Mr. Dunford sleeps, unwise to the sun, hand gripping a pipe, the other caressing his face, deep-lined, browned, the lower lip hanging loose.

Mr. Deveney reads, indifferent to the sun, his body harbouring like dread, the shivers to come.

Mr. Walters sweats, the fat protests, but he spares nothing now, remembering Marvel, seeing that sweaty face.

Mr. Hump makes ready aft, and Crilly and Devine are there, tending one who cries as though in a dream: 'Lemme go. Lemme go, you sods. Lemme go.'

Mr. Hump was saying to himself, 'He said to come back at once,' He said, 'Understand? At once?' He swore under his breath. As though he didn't understand, as though he were thick, some great galoot just come out of a cave or something. Did Walters think him a bloody fool? Looked like it.

'All right,' he said to Crilly, 'stand back.'

They brought the man in, Mr. Walters following. They laid him in the bunk. Next to the looney one. Next to the fevered one. Before the stewards, Crilly and Devine, Sloane and Brown, Mr. Hump asserted himself. He told himself that he
must now,
this very minute, or else go under altogether.

'D'you think I'm a fool, Mr. Walters?' he asked.

'There's no time to think whether you're a fool or not,' was the reply. 'You get along back to that saloon, Mr. Hump. Take these men with you. I want those men out in the sun.'

He remained behind. Stood looking down at the soldier. He was propped up by pillows, half seated, half lying, with closed eyes. It was lighter here, Mr. Walters could see that the man's face was much swollen, his forehead glistened with sweat. A light shone down upon him. Mr. Walters didn't know who he was, he was just a soldier, didn't know really whether he was young or old, whether he was one of the original draft, or one of the strangers picked up from the other boats. That didn't matter, anyhow. He was not unconscious of certain sounds above his head, animal-like sounds, but he did not look up. Heavy breathing was near him, and eyes were upon him. But he stood rock-like, looking into one face, this one, sweated, neither young nor old.