To the Ends of the Earth

by William Golding

  “Mr Talbot?”

  “I heard him cry out. Can I—that is—”

  “Can you be of assistance? Thank you, no.”

  “A moment, ma’am. Paregoric—”

  “The purser’s laudanum? I have it.”

  She paused. I became conscious suddenly of my half-naked legs and of my nightshirt, which was showing between the open skirts of my greatcoat. Miss Granham smiled glacially and shut the door in my face. Another lurch sent me reeling along the rail and wincing as the cry burst again from the poor devil. Comic he might be—but the comic are able to suffer as much as the rest of us! I moved along the rail to the entry to the lobby and stood looking out at the waist in an effort to put some distance between me and his cries, but it was not far enough. I moved out into the cold dawn air and light and huddled under the larboard mainstays. Above me they were casting the log, for I heard a voice give the order.

  “Turn!”

  Then after a long pause:

  “Five and a half knots, sir.”

  “Make it so.”

  There came the squeak of chalk on the traverse board. Five and a half knots! More than a hundred and thirty land miles to the southeast in twenty-four hours—and all from the sails on the one mast. Soon, surely, we should find those westerlies and be blown all the way to Sydney Cove!

  Men were mustering forrard. There was a period of casual ritual as the watch changed. Mr Smiles and young Tommy Taylor handed over the watch on the quarterdeck to Mr Askew, the gunner. It was eight o’clock in the morning and the dawn bright all along the east. Then I saw my friend Lieutenant Summers, and Lieutenant Benét come to the top of the stairs from the quarterdeck and it was plain that there had been a disagreement between them. Charles, mildest of men, looked stormy. Mr Benét on the other hand seemed even more brisk and cheerful than usual. Behind them appeared Mr Gibbs, the carpenter, and Coombs, the blacksmith. This was something new! Benét stood back with what looked like courtesy to allow the first lieutenant precedence down the stair, but in his grin and in the moody face of my friend was neither friendship nor consideration. There was no doubt about it. Clever young Mr Benét was triumphing. He carried a small and rather complicated object in his hands. It appeared to be made of wood and metal. Charles strode into the lobby and down the stairs without looking at me. Mr Benét and the blacksmith stood in talk with Mr Gibbs, who knuckled his forehead, then followed the first lieutenant. Mr Benét thrust the model into the blacksmith’s hand and waved him forward.

  It was too much. I had to be informed: and besides—

  “Good morning, Mr Benét. There is something afoot.”

  “There is indeed, Mr Talbot.”

  “May I be told? Shall you celebrate it in verse?”

  “I am not sure that you should be told, Mr Talbot. After all, you are of the first lieutenant’s party, are you not?”

  “Party? Do you mean ‘faction’? What is all this?”

  “We are absurd, you know—but the thing has happened. Ever since my success in getting weed off her bottom with the dragrope and against the advice of the first lieutenant—”

  “You pulled a baulk of timber off her keel!”

  “And added more than a knot to her speed.”

  “Just one knot, the first lieutenant said.”

  “Whatever it is, we are now fated, he and I, to be on either side of the fence, backed by those who think I am saving our lives on one hand and those who think I took too big a risk on the other.”

  I was loath to quarrel with the man. He was, after all, in some sort the only connection I still had with a certain young lady.

  “But ‘faction’, Mr Benét! As if the ship were a country in little!”

  “Well, is it not?”

  “He is your superior officer. What is more, these cables stretched across the deck—his frapping, as he calls it—are what stands between us and the ship’s falling apart!”

  “An idea old as St Paul, Mr Talbot. You credit the first lieutenant with too much invention.”

  “That object you gave to Coombs. Has it anything to do with the argument?”

  “Everything. It is a model of the keelson, the shoe of the foremast and the lower part of the foremast itself. Seeing is believing. I have thought out a scheme not just for securing the mast—for you know it moves no matter what we do—but also for bringing it back to its former state. If I succeed we shall be able to spread sail on it again and therefore balance it with sails on the mizzen. Another two knots, Mr Talbot, in a moderate wind!”

  “You showed the model to Captain Anderson!”

  “Seeing is believing. He is convinced.”

  “But Charles not! I have faith in him, Mr Benét!”

  “Oh yes. But he is a—well. He is a friend of yours and I say no more.”

  As if to indicate his resolve to be uncharacteristically silent Mr Benét clapped one hand over his mouth, sketched a naval salute with the other and then ran off, skipping over the cables of the frapping, and disappeared into the fo’castle. I hurried away down the ladders to the wardroom. Charles stood there, staring out of our stern window with his usual indifference to our movement. He turned when he heard me open the door.

  “What is all this about, Charles?”

  He did not pretend to misunderstand me.

  “This time Benét wishes to give us back a couple of masts, that is all.”

  “And the captain agrees?”

  “Oh yes. Mr Benét is a most persuasive young man. He will go far if he lives.”

  “If someone does not kill him first! But what is this risk?”

  “Briefly, the foremast has split the shoe—the block of wood on which it stands. So the foot of the mast is able to move. We have stayed the mast below decks, rigged tackles, used chocks, wedges and props and reduced the movement a little. Benét wants to reduce it altogether.”

  “Where is the danger?”

  “Any mistake and the foot of the mast may slip and go through the ship’s bottom. That is all.”

  “He must be stopped!”

  “More than that, his method involves the use of fire, red-hot metal—you understand my objections? It is the dragrope all over again. The thing may succeed but the risk is too great.”

  “Who else is of your faction?”

  “Is it come to that?”

  “I am of your faction, too!”

  “You must not say so. Do you not understand? You have no business to use that word!”

  “Benét did.”

  “He should not have done so. Most of all he should not have used it to you. You are a passenger with no right to an opinion in the matter.”

  I had no answer. He sank into the chair opposite me. He smiled bitterly.

  “You would make it a matter of public discussion.”

  “A rebuke from you—”

  “I did not mean a rebuke, only a warning. The captain has heard our arguments over a professional matter and given his decision. We must abide by it.”

  “I smell trouble.”

  “Stay out of it.”

  “We are friends, are we not? I must help you!”

  He shook his head.

  “I believe I may go so far as to make a formal protest at the appropriate time. Coombs is setting about the ironwork now. It is two vast plates—for which we have barely enough metal—four iron rods with screw ends and nuts to screw on them—”

  “Do not tell me more, for I see it all! He will do what my father made them do to the old cottages down by the river: iron bars made red-hot which pulled some bulging walls together! I remember it well, for I saw it when I was a small boy—how the crosses on the ends of the rods pulled in the walls as the hot metal cooled. It was exciting as a Fair Day!”

  “Was the building made of wood?”

  “Brick.”

  “It will not have escaped your notice that we are made of wood. His bars will extend, red-hot, through four solid foot of timber—I almost heard your jaw drop! Of course, he will have
holes bored wider than the rods and swears the heat will produce nothing inside the shoe but a thin layer of charcoal. His model worked, I allow him that. It produced plenty of smoke too.”

  “But only a while ago Captain Anderson was praising Benét for having no ironwork, no chain cable, no steam about him! A proper rope, blocks and canvas man!”

  The first lieutenant struck the table with the flat of his hand.

  “Listen to me, Edmund! We are still in mortal danger even if the mast should not go through the bottom! Have you watched a fireback as the fire dies down? How the sparks move through the layer of soot on the metal as if they were alive? Have you never seen a fire, apparently dead, brought to life again and flare up? It will be shut in there—in the shoe. We are to sail on gaily with that added to all the rest! Added to the cranky hull, the jury rig, the distance, the terrible weather towards which we are making our clumsy way and which we need because it is the only force which will get us to land and shelter before the fresh water and even the food run out—”

  He paused for breath, and in that silence the sound of the water running and thumping on the outside of our hull was only too clearly audible.

  “Forgive me, Edmund. That young man tries me beyond bearing. He thinks he can find our longitude by lunar distance—he thinks—oh, he thinks this and that! I should not have said so much. I have fallen into the error against which—”

  “You can say what you like to me and I shall be honoured to guard your secrets with my life.”

  It made him smile.

  “No, no. Just keep quiet, old fellow. Forget the whole business. That’s all I ask.”

  “I will keep quiet. But I cannot forget it.”

  He rose to his feet and went to the stern window.

  “Edmund!”

  “What is the matter?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “You sound excited—some more danger? Of course I do!”

  He came back quickly to the table.

  “Go and get into your daytime rig—no oilskins—then into the waist—stand there in the open—don’t stir no matter what happens—hurry!”

  I rushed into my borrowed cabin, tore off my greatcoat and nightshirt—huddled on my daytime clothing and was out again more quickly than I have ever changed in my life. I reached the waist thoroughly out of breath and had to hang on the mainstays to get it back. I saw Mr Brocklebank gathering his decayed coach cloak about him and lumbering back into the lobby. There seemed to be nothing about the waist to cause Charles’s excitement. I leaned on the rail and stared astern.

  “Well!”

  What was astern of us and up wind was the blackest cloud I have ever seen in my life. Here and there it was touched with sour grey, giving it just the appearance of dirty water when you have done your worst with it and the steward has come to remove it from your disgusted sight. Moreover, this cloud was coming rapidly nearer and bringing its own wind with it—as I now saw it did! For our sails thundered, then filled again as our bows moved along the horizon from starboard to larboard. The cloud seemed to reach right down to the water and in a second, it seemed, it had enveloped us. The water was deadly cold, hissing, constant as the flow of a river which fell on me and took away my breath all over again. It soaked and resoaked my clothing, so that I loosed my hold on the mainstays and stumbled towards the lobby—only to remember Charles’s prohibition and stumble back again, for I partly understood it though I cursed him for the first and last time in my life. The torrent continued to fall over me and my soaked clothes clung to me and the water rushed out of my unmentionables as if they had been drainpipes. Suddenly the cold increased as a fresh wind pushed my clothes even closer against me. Then as by magic the water ceased to thunder on the deck. I lifted my head. The wind was fierce in my face and the sea and sky were both alike dark. Webber, the wardroom steward, stood in the entry to the passenger lobby. He was grinning like a gargoyle.

  “Mr Summers’s compliments, sir. You may come in now you’ve had your bath!”

  (3)

  “Bath!”

  I stumbled into the lobby, slopping water out of my clothes, then slid through what I was spilling. I fumbled, cursing, at the door of my old cabin, remembered sick and silent Zenobia, reeled across the lobby to Colley’s cabin, then remembered that I was still using my borrowed cabin in the wardroom. I picked my way more cautiously down the ladder. Webber had the door open.

  “I’ll take your gear, sir.”

  Phillips was there too.

  “Compliments of the first lieutenant, sir!”

  It was a huge towel, rough as a rug and dry as a bone. Naked, I wrapped myself in it as I stepped out of the squelching pile of my clothes. I began to laugh, then whistle, towelling myself round, under, up and down, from hair to feet.

  “What’s this?”

  “First lieutenant, sir.”

  “Good God!”

  Item: a vest, apparently made of string. Item: a rough shirt such as a petty officer might wear. Item: a woollen overgarment of jersey worsted about an inch thick. Item: seaboot stockings almost as thick. Item: a pair of seaman’s trowsers—not, I have to say, unmentionables—trowsers! Finally: a leathern belt.

  “Does he expect me—”

  Suddenly I was overcome with a great good humour and excitement! It looked very much like goodbye to my itching. It was like all those childish occasions of “dressing up”, of wearing a paper cocked hat and carrying a wooden sword.

  “Very well, Webber—Phillips—take this wet stuff away and dry it. I will dress this time for myself.”

  There was no doubt about it. A man had to get himself accustomed to the touch of this sort of material on the skin, but at least it was dry and, by contrast, warm. I had a suspicion that unless I regulated the number of layers I now wore, the warmth would turn into an uncomfortable heat. But by the time I was clothed in a complete costume I was wholly reconciled to the change. Of course, no man could be elegant in deportment when clad so! Such clothing would force on the wearer a decided casualness of behaviour. Indeed, I date my own escape from a certain unnatural stiffness and even loftiness of manner to that very day. I realized, too, why though Oldmeadow’s soldiers always gathered in the straightest of lines and appeared to be held up by their own ramrods inserted in the spine, an assembly of our good seamen, though mustered regularly and standing in approximate rows, could never imitate the drilled and ceremonious appearance of the soldiers with their imposing uniforms! This was naval rig—in fact, “slops”! The curves and wrinkles defied a geometrical organization.

  I went out into the wardroom. The first lieutenant was sitting at the long table with papers spread out before him.

  “Charles!”

  He looked up and grinned as he saw me.

  “How do you find your rig?”

  “Warm and dry—but good God, how do I look?”

  “You’ll do.”

  “A common seaman—What would a lady say? What will the ladies say? How did you do it? In this soaked ship! Why, there cannot be a dry corner anywhere or a dry inch of cloth!”

  “Oh, there are ways—a drawer or box with bags of a suitable substance. But do not speak of that. The same cannot be done for the whole crew and the substance is not for casual handling.”

  “I have not been so moved by a man’s kindness—it is exactly like the story of Glaucus and Diomede in Homer. You know they exchanged armour—gold armour on the one side for bronze armour on the other—my dear fellow—I have promised you the bronze armour of my godfather’s patronage—and you have given me gold!”

  “The story has not come my way. I am glad you are pleased, though.”

  “Bless you!”

  He smiled a little uncertainly, I thought.

  “It is nothing—or not much anyway.”

  “Will you not accompany me to the lobby and give me countenance for my first public appearance?”

  “Oh, come! Do you see these papers? Water, biscuit, beef, pork, beans—we may have to
—And after that I ought to take a look at Coombs and his ironwork—then there are my rounds—”

  “Say no more. I am on my own. Well. Here goes!”

  I left the wardroom, went as bold as brass up the stairs and into the passenger saloon. Our one Army officer, Oldmeadow, was there. He stared for a moment or two before he recognized me.

  “Good God, Talbot! What have you done to yourself, man? Joined the Navy? What will the ladies say?”

  “‘They say—what say they—let them say’!”

  “They will say that ‘tars’ should stick to the front end and not take up the room set apart for their betters. You’d best stay in this part of the ship or a petty officer will lay his rope’s end across your back for idling.”

  “Oh no, he will not, sir! Gentlemen do not need a uniform to be recognized as such. I am comfortable, decent and what is more I am dry, sir. Can you say the same?”

  “No, I cannot. But then I ain’t as thick as thieves with the ship’s officers.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Spend too much of my time looking after my men to badger the Navy into dressing me up from the slop shop. Well, I must be off.”

  He made his way out of the saloon handily enough against the cant and reel. It did seem to me that he went in order to avoid an argument. He was, and perhaps is, a mild creature. There had been a note of asperity in what he said. But then, during the increasing decrepitude of our ship and more evident danger to our lives, there had been a corresponding change in the character of the passengers and change in the relationship between us. We, so to speak, rubbed on each other. Mr Brocklebank, who had once been an object of no more than amusement, had become an irritant as well. The Pikes—father, mother, little daughters—were, it seemed, divided among themselves. I and Oldmeadow—