by James Hanley
But that wasn't possible. There was a reason. At the moment he couldn't examine this reason, it had sunk down far into an obscure, a hidden corner of his mind. Yes. It was the damned secrecy. He sat down on a box, and there was something about the great pile of wood-shavings that caught his eye. Should have been cleared away before this. He stared at these for a while, and then looked round at the forest of wood. Wood everywhere. Wood, wire, tin, smells. Suddenly he said aloud: 'Must have those shavings shifted at once. Yes. And those ventilators had better be rigged up right away. The whole of the three decks want thoroughly cleaning.'
Slowly he climbed the ladder. When he passed along the saloon alleyway the men had gone. He went up on the bridge. Bradshaw was just going below. They left the bridge together. 'Let's have a drink, Bradshaw.' They went to the little mess-room abaft the bridge. The steward gave them drinks.
'Bradshaw!' Mr. Dunford looked at the tall red-headed mate.
He was all attention. He watched Dunford fingering the glass.
'I've something to say to you,' went on Mr. Dunford. 'Did it ever occur to you that those men were quite angry?'
'What men?' asked Bradshaw.
'Oh, you know. The Sahibs ashore. You remember. We discussed alternate routes with them, at least I did, and I objected to being paired, spliced. It hasn't worked very well up to now.'
'Yes – I —'
'Well, isn't it crazy? I feel so isolated in this matter. The truth is, Bradshaw' – he looked right into the man's face – 'the truth is I am worried. Not about the route – not about the accommodation – but the . . . the . . . the . . . oh, hang it. We're getting down to rock bottom now.'
Bradshaw laughed. 'I don't understand you, Mr. Dunford.'
'D'you remember when we took those Light Horse men? The Colonials, I mean. And we saw the whole hang lot go up in the air? You remember?' Mr. Dunford's expression puzzled Bradshaw.
'Oh, yes, It was a job, wasn't it?' Mr. Bradshaw smiled then.
'Look here, Bradshaw. Do you believe in this business? I mean the war.'
'War! I never think about it, Mr. Dunford. It's just a job to me. That's all. Earning a living. I never give it a single thought.' He drank.
Mr. Dunford replied quietly: 'Of course! I understand you, Bradshaw. You might tell the bosun before you retire, that all those ventilators must go up – and the next watch up must get below and make less of a pig-sty of the three decks. Men will be going down there to live, Bradshaw. That's all now.'
Mr. Bradshaw thought he had better go for'ard right away, leave word with the bosun and then quietly retire. He was rather glad Mr. Dunford had changed the conversation – an awkward position. It seemed surprising to Bradshaw that anybody should have opinions on the war. Especially at this time. He had had a sort of idea about Dunford. He hadn't really wanted to sail. That was it. In fact he knew that Mr. Dunford looked on with horror as the men overnight turned his ship upside down. 'God damn it, he'll change his tune bloody quick,' The man must be living in dreamland. He didn't seem to realize the seriousness of the occasion at all. And as for the matter of the Australian Light Horse – well, a pure accident.
Where would they be if they all aired opinions? Nowhere. No! It was beyond him. He could not understand, and why should Dunford come to him, particularly him, he didn't give two bloody hoots about what they did. He was earning his living. If Dunford didn't like the way they were running the war let him retire at once.
Five minutes later Mr. Bradshaw went to his room. He shut the door, and in shutting it he shut out the worried Mr. Dunford, the war, and everything else. Bradshaw always slept well. He would sleep well this watch too.
Back in the mess Mr. Dunford was still sitting over his glass. He wasn't thinking about the talk with Bradshaw. He was thinking of the work to come. In a few hours they'd drop anchor. At that moment a quartermaster knocked at the door. 'Come in.' The door opened. He looked at the man. 'Well, what is it?'
'Mr. Ericson would like you to go up, sir. There's a destroyer signalling us, sir.' The man stood there, waiting, looking at Mr. Dunford's half-filled glass. Was it whisky? Perhaps wine, champagne.
'Thank you,' said Mr. Dunford. The door closed.
Dunford went to the bridge at once. Mr. Ericson was too busy to notice his arrival. He was looking through the glasses, every now and again dictating to the waiting quartermaster. Mr. Dunford went across and looked at the card in the man's hand. 'Give me that card,' he said.
Hearing the voice, Ericson turned round. 'Oh you, sir.' He still held the glasses to his eye. 'They want us to anchor a quarter-mile outside the harbour. We will board troops by tender. It seems the quays are already occupied. A tender is leaving shore now, sir. I think they intend—'
'Quartermaster.' Mr. Dunford's voice sounded like a whip-crack.
'Yes, sir.'
'Go down and inform the bosun I want him here at once.'
And as the man departed Mr. Dunford shouted: 'At once.'
'Very good, sir.'
He watched the man slip down the ladder. He waited for him to come out to the flush-deck. He looked over the dodger. The man was already running for'ard. 'And now, Mr. Ericson,' he said, 'the work begins. Mr. Bradshaw had better be called in half an hour.'
The bosun came along and stood waiting for his orders. Mr. Dunford ignored him. He went on giving instructions to Mr. Ericson. Then he turned and looked at the P.O.
'Get your men standing by the wireless at once, bosun. The carpenter is already up there. And tell your mate that the anchor-lights must be rigged up. When you go below tell the lamp-trimmer I want him up here, right away. The two-day men had better go below and get those three decks ship-shape. That's all.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Very good.' He turned to Ericson again. 'Now, Mr. Ericson.'
CHAPTER THREE
HE could see them climbing. Their faces looked like many bobbing lights. Their bodies seemed one with the intense darkness. There was no end to this long line. They kept coming up. He lost count of them. He could hear the tender scraping against her side. He ordered Mr. Bradshaw to have more fenders slung over. Still they came on. The rope ladders swayed, flung off their burden at the top of the rail, then sank from sight again as more feet took the rungs. Fifteen hundred. Last time it had only been eight hundred. He heard them tramping the decks. He thought of cattle loading. The beasts stamping about in the holds, their wild aimless movements mirroring their bewilderment. Their feet sang upon the steel ladders. He could hear clatter after clatter, like a series of sharp detonations, and he saw them flinging their heavy packs into those newly made wooden bunks. He saw the area opposite the saloon door suddenly flooded with light, and he called angrily, 'Shut that door! Shut that confounded door.' He heard it bang. The air seemed to ring with the noises of feet, of enquiring and answering voices, of coughs, laughs, curses. They had been lying there a whole hour, waiting. Then the tender had come alongside. This was the third tender. There were two more to come. He could see the shapes grouped about the rail where the men would climb over. Officers were standing in the saloon door. He heard Bradshaw giving orders. Somewhere for'ard a man burst into song. He did not know why, but he smiled, wondering what had been the cause of that sudden burst of song. Still they came on, an endless line of faces. He wanted to send for Ericson, but the man was already behind him. Mr. Ericson had just come up from the 'tween-decks.
'Managing all right?' asked Mr. Dunford.
'Yes, sir. Mr. Deveney has just taken my place.'
'He's all right now, then?' enquired Mr. Dunford.
Mr. Deveney had only just made his appearance on deck. He had been stricken down with his old complaint of malaria from the time he boarded her. He was a man turned fifty years of age, quiet, reticent. He had not long left the senior service. Suddenly the line of faces came to an end. Mr. Dunford heard the chug of the tender's engine. She was slowly veering away. Then she disappeared into the darkness. When Bradshaw appeared, Mr. Dunford left the bridge. H
e went straight to the saloon. He saw the group of officers standing at the head of the staircase. They stopped talking on his entrance. They saluted him, and one said, 'Good morning, sir,' but the man did not answer but passed them by, descending the ladder to the lower deck. He walked along the alleyway. He could hear the loud voices of men, the rattle of accoutrements, the sound of running taps, of baggage being flung down. He stopped suddenly. He could see these men now. A forest of legs hanging suspended over the bunks. Their backs were to him. He stood there for a while as though meditating, but when he heard one of them laugh he walked away, stopping again on the for'ard deck. Here, men had already made themselves comfortable, the same din of conversation, but no dangling legs, no rattle of accoutrements, no noise of packs being flung here and there. The canvas ventilator billowed in the breeze. His eye followed it right up to the derrick above. If they had adopted his suggestion about those hatch-covers it would have saved bother. However . . . Then he heard another tender come alongside. He stepped suddenly on to the hatch-cover, making men start up from their bunks, for he had been concealed behind a pillar. Now he stood there in front of them. He looked up, put his foot on the ladder and passed out of sight. He went along to the deck and came across Bradshaw. They stood watching the men climb the ladders. They were mostly young men. They clambered awkwardly down to the deck, their packs interfering with their movements. Mr. Dunford turned to Bradshaw.
'They might well have sent those men's things up in slings.'
'They think it saves time if they manage their own packs,' Bradshaw said.
Mr. Dunford thought, 'And money too.'
Then he heard somebody say, 'The galley is right aft. The troops' galley is right aft.' It seemed to him that this line of moving figures was everlasting, that long skein of bobbing faces, that continuous slow breathing of fatigued and sweating men. Bradshaw was counting. An officer stood beside him, saying, 'There are two hundred more. Then there's the supplies.' Mr. Dunford listened.
Bradshaw said, 'How many officers?' and the officer replied, 'Twenty-three.'
'More tenders out there, bosun,' Bradshaw said. He was thinking of A.10's plates. The moon came out and bathed the ship in light. Now those bobbing lights seemed to disintegrate, and there emerged faces. Faces young and old, thin and fat, long and short, a living map.
'Numbers four and five. This way, please.'
Mr. Dunford's eyes swept the long deck of A.10. A hand touched his arm.
'The officer commanding would like to see you, sir.' Mr. Dunford stared.
'Tell the officer commanding that I cannot see him now, but that he must see me in my room immediately this embarkation is completed.' He walked away, smiling inwardly. It was very kind of the officer, he was thinking.
He was sitting in his cabin an hour later when he was informed that the officer commanding the troops was outside. 'Send him in,' he said.
The door opened. A tall man, about forty-five years of age, was standing outside. 'Come in,' Dunford said quickly, 'and shut that door.' Then he ignored the man, stopping to look into his drawers for something which he very well knew he would not find there, conscious of the other's embarrassment. Then he swung round.
'Yes, sir,' he said, without looking at the officer.
The lives of those fifteen hundred men were in his hands, he was thinking. He looked sharply at the officer. 'Everything going all right?' he asked. Pause. Then he added quickly, 'Sit down.'
He was so used to this procedure. Time and time again he had gone through the same thing. At last the officer spoke. He had issued the necessary orders. Was there anything upon which Captain Dunford wished to be informed? The other shook his head, saying in a slow drawling voice, 'There is nothing.' Then he turned his back on the officer again. After all, why had he called the fellow in? Why had he bothered to have him in the cabin? It was all so silly. Waste of time. Issuing orders regarding observance of rules, conduct of officers and troops, warnings, the importance of giving privileges to the crew on every occasion. When he got outside his authority was simply laughed at. He knew it only too well. This man had a large number of men under him. Very good. What did that responsibility involve? He looked at the officer again, but he was thinking how silly it all was. Then he asked pointedly, 'Do you know where you are going?' The other man shook his head.
'Of course,' Dunford said, 'of course. Well you can go, sir.' He was alone again. To embark those men, fifteen hundred of them. And they did not know where they were going. But he knew. He, Dunford, knew. How? He laughed. 'When they are silent I know. When they are most revealing I don't know.' He looked at his watch. A quarter to three. H'm! One more tender. He got up and switched out the light. Then he dropped the dead-light on the port-hole and looked out into the darkness. What would the officer be thinking of him? He smiled, seeing his embarrassment, seeing his tall figure standing so ungainly in the cabin. Men had stood in his cabin before, in just the same way, and they had passed out. He had never seen them again. Of course it was the damned uncertainty of everything. Bradshaw was knocking at his door. 'What is it, Bradshaw?' he called out, recognized the man's sharp knock. The man's hand fell upon the knob.
'Last tender's away, Mr. Dunford.'
'Very good.' He heard the man's footsteps on the ladder. Then he, too, went up. He could see the tender quite clearly in the moonlight. The rope ladders had been unshipped. The decks were clear. The watch out were already busy coupling up on the hydrants.
'That faulty hydrant's fixed, Bradshaw?'
'Yes, Mr. Dunford.'
Mr. Deveney made his appearance. He was dressed in a blue suit, over which he wore a greatcoat. Around his neck was a thick red woollen scarf. Over a woollen helmet he wore his uniform cap.
Mr. Dunford was on the point of laughing, but, seeing the expression on the third's face, he refrained.
'Feeling better, Deveney?' he asked.
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. You'll be all right as soon as we steer south-east. It'll just be like home to you.' The man laughed.
'Did Walters attend to your wants, Deveney?'
'Oh yes, sir. I got more than I wanted really.'
'Blow for a quartermaster.'
Bradshaw took out his whistle and blew. The quartermaster came up.
'Tell the carpenter to stand by for that cable,' Mr. Dunford said. Then he turned to Bradshaw. 'Better go for'ard now, Bradshaw. We must get out of here inside half an hour.' Mr. Dunford was addressing the air, for the first officer had already gone. He now retired to his favourite place in the port wing. He kept looking across at Deveney. He wasn't quite certain about the man. 'Don't stay, Deveney, unless you really feel equal to it. It's going to be pretty hard going before we get through this net.' He was thinking of the orders, of the official chart. Dangerous and advantageous points, currents, observations and wind, soundings. He thought: 'A paralogical flight of the official mind.' Such charts were useless. There was something fortuitous about their reckoning. And they had even asked for his advice. What was he doing? Taking fifteen hundred men from one point to another. But he must only go by a certain route. At a certain time. He must only touch certain points, the chart his infallible guide. Observe certain signals. If ordered to lay to, he must do so. If told to wait, he must wait. He knew every inch of the ground as well as he knew his own hand, but the official voice announced: 'This route and no other. This method and no other.' The mathematical calculations of lunatics. What he, Dunford, noticed most about their reasoning was the entire absence of it. Well, he would get that cable up now. Already the men were standing by. He would steam outside and wait. 'Wait!' he said aloud. Then he repeated the exclamation, so that the man on the other side of the bridge looked sharply at him. Mr. Dunford went over to Deveney.
'You're shivering, man. Get to your room at once. I'll have Ericson up here.' The third protested. He was quite all right. Nothing to worry about. But Mr. Dunford remained adamant. He was apprehensive. This violent fit of shivering was only the prelude to s
omething disastrous. 'Go to your room, Deveney,' he said. He did not call Ericson, but remained alone on the bridge. The men washing down had now reached the saloon-deck. They were scrubbing their way aft. The windlass rattled. They were hauling up the cable. He looked at his watch again. 'I wonder how long I'll have to remain outside?' The words were hardly out of his mouth before he received his orders, 'PROCEED AS ADVISED.' The cable was up and secure. He went to the telegraph and pulled the handle over, HALF SPEED. The message rang loud in the engine-room: 'HALF SPEED.'
It was now growing light. When Mr. Dunford cast his eyes shorewards the harbour appeared to be rising slowly from out the white mist that was fast gathering and heading towards the open sea. A.10 settled down to her easy rhythm. A slight drizzle fell. Below decks he could hear the ceaseless murmur. The sounds seemed to rise out of the hatches in waves. He would go down there at eleven o'clock and look around. He would have the tall ungainly-looking officer with him. The thought was amusing. Deveney came to his mind. Yes! He was worried about him. As soon as he was relieved he must go and see him. The men washing down had now reached the poop. Mr. Dunford could hear them talking. There was one voice he recognized above all the others. The human barometer. What a tongue the man had!
He looked at the ventilators swinging gently in the wind. They looked like long stockings. He walked up and down the bridge, his hands dug deep in his coat-pockets. Nothing much mattered now except to get those men to their destination. If that officer had been a school-boy going on his first train journey he could not have been more excited. So Dunford thought. What a responsibility for that type of man! He expected they were lounging about in the saloon. He looked at his watch again. Almost time for Ericson to come up. In the wheel-house the quartermaster coughed.
This sudden disturbation of the silence on the bridge caused the man to pull up sharply, and he turned round and stared through the window at the man. But the helmsman's head was bent, so that he could not see the man's face. A light flared up, died down again. As daylight grew one could see the low-lying clouds that threatened rain; the sky itself was almost slate-coloured. The mist seemed to veer off, then return again. He heard a door close, then footsteps.