Authors: Mazo de la Roche
Tags: #FIC045000 – FICTION / Sagas
“Why did you send for me?”
“I was anxious about you.”
“I’ve been standing here waiting for you.”
“Only a few moments! I have been with Sholto. He’s sick.”
“So is everyone. I brought up my own breakfast. What do you want of me?”
“I want you to change into dry things.”
He turned toward the door. “If that is all —”
She caught his arm. “Philip, you are not to go! You’ll get your death!”
“I should make a poor soldier if this would kill me.”
“But what can you do?”
“For one thing, I can put some courage and order into the steerage passengers. They are on the verge of panic. As for you, you might tidy up this cabin. It’s vile.”
“What do you expect!” she cried. “I have a sick baby! I have an ayah who is half-dead! I have Mrs. Cameron to visit! I have my young brother to look after! I worry myself ill about you. The stewardess is useless except to gossip. The ship is leaking! And you ask me to tidy up the cabin!”
In a fury she began to snatch up garments and to thrust them into boxes or on pegs.
“I didn’t ask you to get in a temper,” he said.
“Oh, no, I’m not to get in a temper! I’m to keep perfectly calm! And as neat as a pin!”
“Then why don’t you?”
Before she could answer, the parrot, which had been sitting muffled on the top of his swaying cage, uttered a scream of the purest excitement as he became conscious of Adeline’s agitation, and flew violently about the cabin. The disturbance caused by his wings was startling to nerves already tense. He came to rest on a brass bracket, turned himself over so that he hung head down and, in that posture, sent out a torrent of curses in Hindu: —
“Haramzada!” he screamed. “Haramazada! Chore! Iflatoon! Iflatoon!”
“I sometimes wish,” said Philip, “that we had never brought that bird.”
“I dare say you do,” retorted Adeline. “I dare say you wish you had never brought me. Then you might have had your old shipwreck in the most perfect order! You might — ”
Philip’s face relaxed, “Adeline,” he said, “you make any situation ridiculous. Come, my pet, don’t let us quarrel.” He put his arms about her and his lips to her hair. “Do find me a pair of gloves for I’ve blistered my palms at the pump.”
She was instantly solicitous for him. First she kissed the blistered palms, then she bathed them, applied a soothing ointment, a bandage, and found a pair of loose gloves for him. So administered to he became quite meek and changed into his dry clothes and brushed his hair. All this while Boney regarded them quizzically, hanging for the greater part of the time head down.
“Philip,” she asked as she coiled her hair, “is everything as simple as the Captain says? Are we in danger? Will the ship carry us safely to Newfoundland? He says he will stop there for repairs, doesn’t he?”
“We can cope with the leak,” he answered gravely. “And if only this damned head wind would fall and a favourable wind spring up we should do very well.”
They did keep the leak under control, the sun came out fitfully; a kind of order was created on the ship, the wind promised to fall. Regular shifts at the pumps were arranged and, when the time of changing came, the cry of “Spell ho!” rang out from Grigg’s enormous mouth. The Captain looked determinedly cheerful. The
Alanna
pushed on through the buffeting of the waves. She seemed running straight into the ruddy sunset. A sailor came bounding up to the Captain who was talking with Philip and Mr. Wilmott.
“The cargo has shifted!” he said, out of breath.
Philip went to where Adeline and her brothers had found shelter on the corner of the deck. The boys were tired and had
stretched themselves in complete abandon on either side of her. Conway’s head lay against her shoulder, Sholto’s on her lap. Upon my word, thought Philip, they look no better than the emigrants. Adeline raised her eyes from the pages of
Pendennis
.
His stern expression startled her.
She sat upright. “What is it now?” she demanded.
Conway woke and sprang to his feet. He looked dazed. He stammered: —
“Why — Philip — why? Adeline — the deck! Look at the deck!”
“Yes,” said Philip. “The ballast has shifted. She’s listing badly. The Captain says there’s nothing for it but to go back to Galway for repairs.”
“Back to Galway for repairs!” repeated Adeline and Conway in one voice. Then he laughed. “What a joke on us!” He shook his brother by the shoulder. “Wake up, Sholto! You’re going to dear old Ireland again!”
“How long will it take?” asked Adeline.
“With this wind behind us we’ll do it in a few days.”
“We must not let my mother know we are there. It would upset her so. She’d bound to come all the way to Galway to see us, and the good-byes to say all over again!”
“I quite agree,” said Philip. He felt he could very well do without seeing his parents-in-law again.
Sholto wore a strange look of joy.
The next morning the wind had fallen enough to allow the first officer to be lowered over the side in the Captain’s cutter to examine the leak. The sea was a bright hard blue and the waves were crinkling under the wild west wind. His movements were watched with fascination by those on deck. He opened his mouth and shouted cryptic remarks to the Captain leaning over the side. He put out his hand and felt the injured part like a surgeon concentrating on an operation. Then he was hauled up again. Everyone crowded round him. He was loath to relieve their anxiety and only the presence of the cheerful Captain made him say: —
“Ah, I dare say she’ll do. That is if there are no squalls. The leak will be four feet out of the water if the sea gets no worse. She may do — but we’ll hae to keep at the pumps.”
The
Alanna
had turned back with the sound of thunder in her sails as she veered. Now, to the wind she had struggled against for so many days, she surrendered herself, let it drive her back toward Ireland and strained every inch of canvas to be there with the least loss of time. But the shifting of the ballast made her awkward. No one could forget the way she listed. It was as though all on board had suddenly become lame, leaning to one side when they walked.
And there were the pumps always to be kept going, forcing out the briny water that stretched in monstrous fathoms waiting to force its way in again. Aching backs, hands blistered, then callused, monotonous hours that wove the day and night into one chain of weariness and boredom. Every now and again the boredom changing to apprehension at the sight of a ragged cloud that looked the possible mother of a squall. Of all those on board, Adeline was the most buoyant. In her handsome clothes, that were so unsuitable to the situation, she carried assurance and gaiety wherever she went. She would, for all Philip’s remonstrances, take her turn at the pumps. She learned sea chanteys from the sailors, though she never could keep on the tune.
A strange intimacy sprang up among the passengers. They seemed to have known each other for years. Their faces, their gestures, their peculiarities, were etched on each other’s minds. Then, on the eighth day, the dim shape of Ireland became visible on the horizon.
G
ALWAY
B
AY
lay blue and tranquil, church bells were ringing as the bark, at a melancholy angle, moved slowly into the port. Then, for the first time in ten days, the pound of the pumps ceased. The eardrums of those on board were freed to take in the sound of the bells and the singing of birds.
Adeline stood in the bow facing the light breeze that carried warm scents of the land. Her nostrils quivered and she gave a little laugh. Mr. Wilmott came up just in time to hear it.
“You are fortunate to be able to laugh, Mrs. Whiteoak,” he said. “To me this is a most depressing return.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her white teeth gleaming between her parted lips.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “aren’t you glad to smell the land again — and hear the bells?”
“Not the Old Land,” he answered bitterly. “Not
these
bells. I never expected to be here again. I want the New World.”
“Well, you’ll get it, if only you have patience. You might be at the bottom of the sea. I’m thankful to be alive!”
“You are different. You are young and full of hope.”
“But you aren’t old! And you have told me of interesting plans
you have. This is just a mood. It will pass.”
He smiled too. “Of course it will. I certainly cannot feel downcast when I am near you.”
The ayah stood near by with the baby in her harms, her pale-coloured robe fluttering about her emaciated figure. It was the first time she had been on deck since her bout of seasickness and she looked scarcely able to stand, let alone carry the child. But her heavy-lidded eyes shone with joy at the sight of the green land and little Augusta held out her hands toward the gulls that came circling about the ship.
Philip strode down the deck.
“I have the luggage ready!” he exclaimed. “I’m not leaving any of our valuables on board.”
“The Captain says they will be safe.”
“Humph! Anyhow, we shall need our things. This leak isn’t to be mended in a jiffy.”
“Have you seen my brothers?” she asked. “Have they got their things together?”
“Here is Sholto to answer for himself.” Philip eyed the boy sternly. He was laden with his belongings, gathered together in a promiscuous fashion. His pale face was alight with exhilaration.
“I can scarcely wait,” he exclaimed in an exaggerated brogue, “to plant me feet on the ould sod! Praise be to God, I shall sleep in a dacent bed and put me teeth in some dacent food before long!”
As he advanced he let fall one article after another on the deck but he appeared unconscious of this.
“Where is Conway?” demanded Adeline.
“I can’t make him stir. He’s still in bed. Mary Cameron is with him.”
“Merciful heavens!” cried Adeline.
Philip threw them both a warning look. Mr. Wilmott considerately moved away, out of hearing.
“She is packing his things for him,” went on Sholto. “He says he is too tired and the silly girl believes him! She believes whatever he says and does everything he tells her.”
“I shall attend to him,” said Adeline.
With her eager step she went swiftly along the slanting deck. She hastened down the companionway and through the narrow passage where most of the cabins were separated from public view by only a curtain. The smell of this passage she felt she never would forget. All the smells of the ship below deck seemed concentrated here — the smell of stale cooking, the smell rising from the livestock, the smell of the lavatory! What discomfort she had endured! The sweet land breeze made it suddenly almost tangible — discomfort and fear.
She stood outside Conway’s door listening but there was so much noise of movement and shouting she could hear nothing. She opened the door.
Conway lay stretched on the berth, a happy smile on his face, his pale hair falling about his cheeks. His long greenish eyes followed every movement of Mary Cameron who was bent over a portmanteau carefully packing his toilet articles, under his direction.
“Well, this is a pretty sight!” cried Adeline. “Oh, you lazy pig, Con! Get up out of that and do your own work! Mary, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why aren’t you helping your mother?”
Mary raised a flushed face. She said, with a touch of defiance: —
“Everything is done for my mother. She is resting till we disembark.”
“Then go and sit by her. Don’t you know better than to be alone with a young man in his cabin? Have you travelled halfway round the world and learnt nothing?”
“My mamma has told me,” answered Mary, “to be afraid of Indians and to be afraid of Chinamen and Frenchmen but she has not told me to be afraid of Irishmen.”
Adeline found it hard not to laugh but she said sternly — “Then she did wrong, for they are the worst of all. Now, run off. If Con needs help I’ll give it to him.” She pushed Mary out of the room.
She came to her brother and took him by the ear. She bent down and put her face close to his.
“Con,” she said, “have you ever laid a bad hand on that girl?”
With the shamelessness of a child he distorted his face against the pain of his ear.
“Let me be!” he said. “I shan’t tell you.”
“You will or I’ll tell Philip to question you. You’ll not like that.”
He twisted his head so he could kiss her forearm.
“Sweet Sis,” he said.
“Answer me, Con!”
“I swear I’ve said nothing to Mary you might not have heard — or her mother.”
She let him go. “Thank God for that! Now, get up and pack your bags.”
But she was soft enough to help him. The beautiful harbor lay spread before them; the grey stone town rising beyond it, and beyond that the dark mountains of Clare. An ancient feudal castle stood on one of the hills. The townsfolk were gathering to see the ship for it was rarely that one of her size entered the harbor.
Now there came all the confusion of disembarking — they who had thought not to leave the ship till they landed at Quebec! Off they came, carrying their belongings, looking paler than when they had set out, some excited, some forlorn, a few in tears. The poor livestock were led or harried off — some so weak in the leg they could hardly walk. They were dirty, they were dazed, though the poultry bore the adventure best. Maggie, the little goat which had been sent for Augusta’s nourishment, was the one exception. She seemed not to have suffered at all from the experience but trotted off on her little hoofs, her bell tinkling. One of the sailors had taken a fancy to her and had combed her long silvery hair. As she was led from the pier she saw a small patch of green and hastened to tear off a mouthful and munch it.
Boney, too, had borne the voyage well. The rolling of the ship had been a pleasure to him. To hang head downward was one of his diversions. He left the ship, sitting on Adeline’s shoulder. His beak was parted in what looked like a smile of triumph. His dark tongue was a wonder to the crowd who soon collected about her.
“You had better have carried him in his cage,” said Philip.