The Trespass: A Novel

by Barbara Ewing

  The Captain would have preferred not to stop at the bottom of the world: he had not been here before and had heard many stories of the treachery of the weather in the area. But the Cloudlight, so badly storm-tossed in the Bay of Biscay where much water was lost, and then becalmed in the tropics where there was no rain at all, was dangerously short of water: he had no choice. Besides, the weather was calm.

  ‘We will not stay long,’ he said.

  It was necessary to anchor a fair way from the shore, for Tristan da Cunha was known to be surrounded by reefs. And although it was clear where the landing place was, it would obviously only be possible in a small boat. As the sails were being lowered a whaleboat was suddenly seen coming towards them: Queen Victoria herself could not have caused more enthusiasm. Steerage and cabin passengers tried to get a better view: the deck of the ship swarmed with eager people, small boys including the boy George shouted with excitement, pushed through anyone who got in their way, not minding their manners at all. Four strapping young men, islanders, were rowing towards them; waved; hove to and called up that they would take some of them back through the dangerous rocks to the shore, would be able to provide them with fresh provisions as well as water if they so desired; told the Captain to keep an eye out for the north wind; announced that their leader would come aboard later in the day. We saw you from the island last night, did you see we lit fires? we’ve been waiting for you, welcome! welcome!

  The passengers were overcome with quite wild excitement at seeing other human beings, they waved and called back and laughed and threw their hats into the air: hello, hello, they called again and again, one hundred and sixty-two voices, hello there! Here were other people, here was land, the world existed, and the sea before them was as calm as glass. Everybody hung over the rail to look, at the islanders with their great beards, at the strange high shape of the whaleboat; declared to each other they would like to jump into the sea however cold and swim ashore, stay for a few days. The Captain, his ship safely at anchor, poured himself some rum and looked at the clear sky, but repeated that he would leave before nightfall.

  Ralph and Benjamin eagerly asked to go with some of the crew, even to row the high-ended whaleboat (they were both considered expert rowers from their university days); their offer was politely refused, but they were instead afforded seats in the stern with the water containers. Quintus, frantic with excitement, evaded Lucy’s arms and jumped in after them. The islanders raced off again, showing off their prowess, crested the inner waves with style and great care, skirted past the scarcely concealed rocks of a long reef as they made for land. Ralph saw that his brother’s face was wreathed in eager anticipation and sheer joy as the dark cliffs of the island came nearer and nearer.

  ‘By Jove, Ralphie,’ cried Benjamin and his blond curls danced in the breeze the whaleboat made, ‘look at the sea birds, look at their size! Look at the lava cliffs from the time the island was a volcano, look how black it shines, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!’

  Ralph laughed aloud in his own enthusiasm as he too looked with delight on the land ahead. ‘Look, look, there’s quite a little crowd waiting for us on shore,’ and Ralph waved his hand in a pleased salute. And then a thought struck him. ‘Perhaps she too has been here!’ The further he got from England the more his admiration and love for the enigmatic Miss Harriet Cooper had grown: she too had experienced this journey, and without him to protect her. Over and over he replayed the last scene with her on the deck of the Amaryllis and his own role in it: he had lost her instead of going with her; next time he found her he was determined that he would never, never let her go. She could not possibly refuse him: he thought of her every hour of every day. He had crossed the world to marry her, and he would do so.

  ‘Perhaps indeed she came this way,’ agreed Benjamin. From day after day after day of thoughtful contemplation at sea he had come to accept that, whatever the meaning of his own strange premonition – intuition, love for that beautiful girl, whatever it had been – it was his brother of course who was to find Miss Harriet Cooper again, to see that she was safe and to seek her hand in marriage: Benjamin had merely set that chain of events in motion and now he must pursue his own life. He must not keep thinking of her. ‘Listen, Ralphie,’ he said now, ‘this wonderful journey is not going to end for me. I have decided I will not return home at once, there is too much for me to see and learn. When you return with Miss Cooper, if that is what transpires, I shall travel further. I am not needed at home as you are and there is so much of the world to see. Look, just look at this dark island!’ and he stared ahead in amazement.

  Ralph regarded his brother again, smiled, said nothing. Let time show what the future held for Ben: his own future held Harriet.

  ‘But I say, Ben,’ he cried suddenly, joyful. (But then he remembered that voices carried clearly across the water and lowered his voice.) ‘What a relief to be away from the Reverend!’ And the two brothers whooped in delight like small boys, and then grinned at each other, as the islanders rowed for the shore.

  The Cloudlight, anchored, rocked gently. The passengers left behind watched the progress of the whaleboat enviously, but feasted their eyes on a sight of land: the snow-topped mountain, the dark cliffs, the dull green of small bush-like trees, the sight of other, actual, human beings. They saw seals, and sea-elephants, and big, wild birds: felt, even in this loneliest of places, that they were part of the human race again. The Captain, from the poop deck, stretched, winked down at Lucy, his favourite (thought nothing of a gentle north-west wind that ruffled his hair as he poured his rum): Lucy gave him a grin, she knew he was a rogue but she had known many rogues and was ever grateful for his acceptance of Quintus. Little, scrawny George stood with his mother, shivering slightly in the cold but staring at the beautiful island in fascination. The Reverend Boothby in a black greatcoat sauntered to George’s side: began to point out things for him to notice. Occasionally George pointed out things for the Reverend Boothby to notice: all the monsters for instance that he assured the minister lay hidden in the sea below them.

  The whaleboat came up to the black sand, Ralph and Benjamin leapt ashore followed by Quintus, the sailors approached the waterfall. The air was so still and bright that the passengers on the Cloudlight could clearly see the tiny shape of Quintus racing up and down the shore in a kind of demented, delirious excitement to be on land again at last: barking at men, barking at sea-elephants, barking at birds. Lucy, longing to be with him, laughed to watch.

  ‘From here he looks like a mad flea!’ she said to Annie. They stood arm in arm on the deck, friends forever.

  Lord Ralph and Sir Benjamin Kingdom stood on the shore talking with great interest to their hosts, other men had appeared, and children, who hung back shyly. Benjamin picked up small black pebbles, let the cold, dark sand fall through his fingers, watched the big sea birds as they circled and dived. The sailors filled the water carriers, arranged to collect provisions on their second trip, were rowed back past the rocks and delivered precious water to the Cloudlight, then returned for more. Quintus chased birds bigger than himself. Some of the islanders chewed on pipes that were empty of tobacco; Benjamin noted this, decided tobacco must be sent back from the ship to these lonely men before they sailed away again. One of the sturdy young islanders, who introduced himself as William, showed them the steep path to where their small village lay on a plane above them; they saw the carefully built small houses; they were invited to climb up if they had the time and the inclination. Benjamin looked upwards in anticipation.

  ‘Will the volcano ever erupt again?’ he asked as he stared further and further upwards in awe.

  ‘That is in God’s hands,’ said William.

  Once or twice as they were talking an old man looked at the sky. Then suddenly (his experienced eyes seeing something in the sea, or the sky, that others could not) he excused himself to shout across to the young islanders who were helping the sailors, to hurry with the second lot of water. On the shore the w
aves changed their sound just a little, seemed to become a little louder, yet nothing appeared different exactly, the Cloudlight still rode at her anchor: perhaps the sea swell was slightly more. Ralph and Benjamin looked a little uneasily at the cliffs behind them and then back at the Cloudlight. There was no problem, surely?

  The old islander came back. ‘We are worried about your ship. Has your captain been in these waters before?’

  ‘He has not,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Then he may be unaware of the danger of this nor-westerly. They come, literally, out of nowhere. He should make for shelter at one of the smaller islands, not stay at anchor here, surely he would have been informed of this, all captains know of the dangers here. If the swell takes hold he could be dashed against the rocks,’ and he pointed to the jagged line near the shore that the whaleboat had negotiated earlier.

  They stared out to sea. There was no sign of the Cloudlight raising anchor.

  The sailors left the waterfall, came to where the others stood on the dark shore. They all looked out to sea: there seemed now to be much bigger swells between the ship and the shore and the Cloudlight seemed to be coming closer.

  ‘Why doesn’t he go?’ muttered one of the men with the empty pipes incredulously. ‘He must see what is happening.’

  Ralph and Benjamin exchanged apprehensive glances. Were they to remain on Tristan da Cunha while their ship made for safety? The islanders made no move now, to row back to the ship.

  ‘He will go, surely,’ said William.

  The men on shore stared outwards. At a frightening speed the waves between the ship and the shore grew bigger and bigger: sometimes now the Cloudlight was hidden from sight by the mounting walls of water. Now the surf crashed more and more violently on the black shore with a sound like thunder: at last Ralph and Benjamin understood the danger that surrounded the ship: she was dragging her anchor, she was getting bigger, she was moving inexorably towards the submerged rocks, her anchor no longer holding her as she was driven towards them by the wind.

  Ralph and Benjamin suddenly turned with one accord to the whaleboat, meaning to row towards the ship to give warning, were restrained by their own sailors and by the islanders.

  ‘We cannot row out now,’ said William, ‘we would not get through that sea out past the rocks. We can only pray for the wind to die, it does sometimes, just as suddenly.’

  ‘But we know the people on board!’ cried Ralph. ‘And our mother’s cousin is there. We cannot let them drown!’

  ‘We must wait now,’ said William firmly and the wind whipped the words from him and the sea crashed wildly towards them, bringing the Cloudlight closer and closer, hidden from them by the waves and then appearing again, helpless, dangerously nearer. Quintus stood on the shore quite still, his ears standing upwards, hearing perhaps what the others could not.

  Sir Benjamin Kingdom may have counted himself a friend of Charles Darwin. Nevertheless he put his face in his hands for a moment. Spare them, dear God, he prayed.

  God did not hear, it seemed.

  Within less than sixty terrible minutes from the time it lay unsuspecting on a calm sea the helpless, drifting Cloudlight smashed against the out-shore rocks of Tristan da Cunha that it perhaps did not even see, blown there by the dreaded north-wester that came from nowhere. Ralph and Benjamin stood transfixed in horror and disbelief at a sight that would haunt them for the rest of their lives, the Cloudlight rising, falling, smashing. Only the realisation that the islanders and two of the sailors were now frantically launching the whaleboat brought them to their senses. Both young men ran out into the churning water.

  ‘Only one of you!’ shouted William, who stood as helmsman.

  Ralph did not even wait to consider: he was the elder. He ran forwards into the sea up to his waist, heaved himself aboard, took an extra oar at the stern as ordered, did not hear himself yelling at the top of his lungs Hurry! did not hear William’s words: thank God it is daylight. The others were left, impotent and transfixed, on the black shore.

  The whaling boat made slow, wild, dangerous progress towards the rocks, guided by the young man William who used a long oar to steer from the high prow; taking the waves in a way only the most experienced of seamen would have dared, even so the wild water whipped and smashed the bodies of his crew; sometimes they thought they heard terrible screams above the crashing of the sea and the roaring of the gale; sometimes only a few hundred yards away the Cloudlight – the wrecked Cloudlight – could be seen, sideways, smashing against the rocks again and again with the force of the water, breaking into pieces. And then the crashing waves would take her from view again. The first thing that came careering past them was a ship’s lifeboat. It was empty. Somehow William managed to catch it as it passed, lashed it somehow to the whaleboat; even in his terror, rowing wildly, then stopping as he was directed, Ralph saw the skill.

  And then, among the spars and the timber hurtling dangerously towards them, they saw bodies in the water, they could not tell if they were dead or alive as they were thrown upwards and sideways by the sea: just crowded black shapes at first, sinking, rising; then the shapes began to take form, a woman trying desperately to hold a child above her, a sailor pulling a man behind him, an old man sinking, dead bodies floating, catching on masts, on torn pieces of timber, all of the bodies and the bits of wreck smashed forwards by the waves, some towards the shore, some against the rocks. All the time William, shouting to his men above the sea, manoeuvred the boat as near as he dared, somehow keeping it far enough away from the rocks and the wreck and their own almost certain death. Ralph suddenly saw red staining the foaming water, looked frantically, wildly for the people he knew, the Reverend Boothby whom they had laughed at unkindly so often, the boy George who had sworn to be his friend. He managed to pull a man aboard the whaleboat, who then, unbelievably, was still strong enough to help him pull in the woman with the child: they pulled another and another, a fat woman whom they could hardly heave aboard, then the surveyor who had been Ralph’s chess opponent from the cabin passengers: spewing, screaming, silent. Then several of the shapes caught at the empty, ricocheting lifeboat, tried to pull themselves aboard it, some helped others, some pushed others away, some were caught on pieces of wood: indelibly etched on Ralph’s mind was a young woman, drowning before he could reach her hand, hit by a lunging foot through the thrashing water: he saw her eyes before she was gone. And all the time the wind roaring in their ears like thunder mixed with the crashing sound of the waves and the screaming picked up by the wind and thrown away again. Again and again the remains of the ship crashed and smashed against the reef, thrown by the crazed, violent waves until the Cloudlight was no longer a ship but a thousand pieces of splintered timber, and at moments fantastical shapes of twisted iron reached upwards towards the heavens in manic supplication. And still the whaleboat somehow stayed upright, guided by the islanders. Ralph saw William pulling at something that seemed to be caught on their boat: it was a woman’s skirt; William shouted something to his companion and then leant far overboard wielding a knife. Ralph saw that William was tied to the whaleboat by a rope, that he was half over the side slashing at the front of the whaleboat; a woman’s body careered past and then Ralph saw that something white and small was being half-thrown on board and almost in slow motion he saw that the thing being thrown was the boy George. Ralph lunged forward, fell, could not get nearer, someone shouted to him to mind his oar, Ralph caught a glimpse of the boy’s still, white face. William half-disappeared again, trying again to cut something loose, the whaleboat lurched dangerously; William fell backwards on to the bottom of the boat, vomiting sea water.

  ‘Go back,’ he shouted hoarsely, ‘we can take no more on this trip, we will lose them if we don’t go back now.’

  Ralph did not feel his shoulders or his back: rowed as the others rowed, caught now dangerously on the swell, then crashing forwards at terrible speed, seemingly out of control, towards the shore, Ralph soaked through to his bones and further though he
felt nothing at all, all the time guided by William with infinite, infinite knowledge and skill, calling to the men, guiding and manoeuvring while two of them, leaving the others to row, held on to the lifeboat that battled behind them to try to keep it afloat, the desperate survivors clinging to the sides for their lives, knowing even now they could be lost. And all the time Ralph was aware of the little white body lying with all the others they had rescued at the bottom of the whaling boat, and the eyes closed in the small white face.

  Others were waiting on the sand to pull them in, the rope tying the lifeboat was cut; as the survivors were dragged ashore the whaleboat was already turning to go back again. Ralph thought he saw island women as he called hoarsely to Benjamin: that he had not seen the Reverend Boothby, that George was here in the boat. Kind hands began to drag the wild, shocked people as far from the raging sea as was possible: the ones who were alive. Ralph tried to reach the boy: as Benjamin, struggling in deep water, lifted him from the whaling boat, Ralph saw the boy’s head fall forward. He seemed to be dead. I swear, Ralph had said to George. He saw Benjamin turn for the shore, holding the boy in his arms, he seemed to be talking to him. The whaleboat shot back out to sea, turning to the rocks at once; Quintus stood quite still by the shore: he hardly looked at the boats, pointed his nose to the wrecked Cloudlight, waiting.

  Ralph hardly knew any longer what he was doing, only that he kept on rowing to the call of the voices, on and on. Once again they approached the wreck under William’s orders, once again the whaleboat pitched and heaved.

  But now there were no heads bobbing.

  Dead bodies were whirled past them among spars and hats and broken planks and pots and boxes and chairs and shoes. Then something else rushed past Ralph, a larger body that he thought he recognised that seemed to be caught in a piece of sail; Ralph reached for the body then a wave dashed it away again. When the sea fell back for that split second before the next wave, Ralph saw quite clearly that the stout body belonged to the bald head of the Reverend Boothby. He had lost his clerical garments, his very large underclothes were so full of water that the body seemed to float as it lay face down, not struggling at all, as if, before the next wave dashed his worldly form against the rocks, the Lord had finally heard his prayers and whisked his spirit away to the rose-covered vicarage down an English country lane in the sunshine.