Ocean Breathing
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A few miles beyond the Cape Verde islands the wind veered from southwest to west-southwest.
We were obliged to tack and run before it, a process which was not as easy as it sounds, for though the ship had been in her trim all this time, we must now take into account not only the difference between wind and sea but also that of a lee-shore, which makes it much harder than on a lee shore to get round with any speed.
The result is that it takes longer to reach our destination by tacking; the wind may be stronger, but if you cannot keep up your speed you have less chance of beating your rivals and so winning the race.
As I watched the sails go around, the breeze freshening as it fell out, I felt more and more strongly that my life’s work lay there ahead. It was hard to realize what a change it would be after all these years to sail in such a vessel again!
I felt I could not even describe what an experience it was: like a man who has spent twenty-five years at college, where he has never done anything else except read and write. Then suddenly his father dies and leaves him some property and he goes home and buys himself an estate, where he does nothing but ride and hunt for the rest of his days.
But, of course, one can’t do it. One has a family and servants. And besides, one doesn’t want to spend the rest of one’s life doing only those things. It would not be right either morally or physically. One wants to live in a city, and drive a car, and fly across countries at hundreds of miles an hour.
That’s just as well—or it would be wrong for me—because the only way in which you can become really good at something is by putting in long periods of work. But I was glad to know that if I ever found myself able to afford to do so, I would not hesitate to spend the rest of my days on the high seas, hunting whales or whalers.
There are people who say they would rather die than spend their lives at sea. Well, it seems to me that most sailors would sooner die than give up the sea. You see, it’s a sort of disease.
At noon on Tuesday, we sighted the island of St Paul’s. At this distance, it looked very small. Its inhabitants have a tradition that Christopher Columbus came ashore there when he landed in America. This was true enough, in a sense.
He did land on the islands in 1492, but the next day he set sail for Cuba. We sailed along the coast and dropped anchor near a fishing village called Ribadeo, with a population of about seven hundred souls. It was a lovely spot and a beautiful bay, and I was sorry we could not stay longer.
A little farther south we passed a small island called San Felipe, which the inhabitants used as a place for curing fish. As far as I could tell, the island was uninhabited. We went on past Santa Maria de Nunez. She lies in about forty fathoms, but she has two masts and square sails, and her figurehead is a mermaid.
On Wednesday morning I woke to find us in the Bay of Cadiz, the most picturesque and romantic anchorage in the world. It is a narrow bay, with a steep rock face rising sheer from the sea in several places and towering over the town.
The houses stand on terraces-like steps on each side of the water. The old buildings are built of stone, and many are decorated with carved coats of arms and other emblems. There is a church tower with a tall spire, and the whole place looks as if it had been designed by the artist Raphael.
We anchored off Cadiz in six fathoms. The wind was from the southeast and fresh, but we could not get away before nightfall.
It was not until the following Sunday that we left Cadiz, and we made very slow progress. We ran along the coast, and then, as the wind freshened and the sky cleared, we sailed down the coast under jibs only. By the evening of Monday, we were in sight of the Canary Islands.
The first island we saw was Teneriffe, which was covered with a fine forest of palm trees. The second was Gran Canaria. We anchored outside Las Palmas, the capital of the latter. This was a pretty port with streets of white stone and some handsome old houses.
It seemed to be a busy place, but it was quiet for the time of year, and the only sounds were the cries of birds from the gardens and orchards. It was a warm summer’s day, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.
On Tuesday, July 19th, we weighed anchor at 7 a.m., and at 2 p.m. we were in sight of the African coast again. The sun was shining brightly, and we were able to take in our topsails and foretopsail yardages. The trade winds blew steadily from the northeast, and the weather was delightful.
We ran up to Cape Town, which lies about thirty miles east of Table Mountain, one of the finest mountains in the world. The cape is surrounded by low hills and a large lagoon, where ships tie up to load wood and water. In fact, one of these ships was lying alongside ours while we were making ready to leave, and I went aboard with Mr. Pinchbeck to inspect its cargo.
The captain said he did not expect to see us back again in his lifetime. He was not much concerned about the money; he was getting a reasonable sum for carrying a cargo to Bombay, so it was no matter how much it cost. The crew seemed to be a good lot, however, and I felt comfortable as soon as they showed me their instruments and their charts.
They had everything right except the wind direction indicator, but I think this was because it was being sent home to England.
I returned to the ship just in time to see them cast off. A Cape is a great place for ships: there are always plenty of cargoes waiting to be loaded. I watched our departure through my glass. I noticed that one of the ships on the quay was a Dutch bark bound for Lisbon.
When we got clear of the town, I took Mr. Pinchbeck on board for a last look around. We stood out to sea and then hoisted all sail. The sea was smooth and calm. All the men on deck were looking eagerly forward to getting a taste of the Indian Ocean.
They were excited, and there was a cheerful air on the quarterdeck. I went below to write up my journal, after putting my watch into my waistcoat pocket, which would protect it from damage. I sat down and started work, but before I had written half an hour a man tapped gently on the door of my cabin.
“Mr. Banks?” he asked.
I rose. “Yes,” I answered.
He opened the door, and I heard him say:
“Mr. Banks, I have been ordered to arrest you for the murder of Lieutenant Hickey.”
***
The man was in plain clothes, and there was nothing distinctive about him. I stared at him in amazement as he spoke quietly. My hand was still on the key of my watch case, but when I looked at it again I found that it was empty—my watch was gone.
“You can’t do this!” I cried, starting towards the door. But he stopped me with a gesture. I knew what to expect next, and I did not try to resist. He put his hands behind his back, then turned and walked away. Before long he had disappeared.
For a moment I stood quite still, thinking frantically. Then I picked up my coat and began searching for it. I could not believe that it had fallen out; I knew I must have dropped it. There was no use in going aft or forward without my coat—I was bare-headed, and there was no help for it.
The ship was moving swiftly now, and the wind was fresh. I hurried forward to the fore-end to hail the helmsman. It was hard to get his attention.
“Mr. Banks!” I shouted at the top of my voice.
After a few seconds, the helmsman came running toward me. “Yes, sir?” he called cheerfully.
“Have you seen a green watch coat anywhere? It’s a little big for me.”
“Oh, yes! You’ve lost it somewhere?”
“That’s the trouble. Have you found it?”
“No, sir. I didn’t think anything of it till you told me.”
“Didn’t you check your waistcoat pockets?” I asked anxiously.
“Certainly not! Why should I do that?”
I went straight over to the captain, who had come on deck to supervise the lowering of the topsails, and pointed out the loss.
“I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “How long ago did you lose it?”
“Just now.”
“A very unfortunate thing,” he remarked. “We’ll find it in no time, though, with the help of the other ships.”
It took only five minutes for me to tell the captain what had happened. As soon as we saw that the man was gone, he called the first lieutenant on deck and gave him orders to look around for any sign of the thief.
In ten minutes he reported that he thought he had spotted him; he was standing near the Dutch bark and appeared to be talking to the master of a small fishing vessel moored alongside him. By this time we had got well away from shore, and the captain ordered the ship to stand down.
Soon afterward he came to me again, and I followed him into his cabin. He was seated in a chair by the table and was smoking a pipe; he looked tired.
“Do you know what to make of this, Mr. Banks?” he asked.
I hesitated for a moment. It was not so easy to explain away the loss of my watch without seeming to accuse anyone, since I had no doubt that some member of the crew had taken it from me in order to take advantage of it later. After a moment I ventured cautiously:
“If I might suggest—the men have been drinking more than usual today. And they may have been careless while taking their watches on and off. It’s the sort of thing that happens often enough.”
“But that doesn’t account for this,” he replied.
He handed me an envelope. Inside it was several bank notes in denominations of one hundred pounds each. A number of them had been torn and the corners crumpled; a good many others were stained black with ink as if someone had tried to burn holes in them. I felt cold all over; it was impossible to speak.
“I suppose you will think I stole these, too,” he said at last.
I nodded and said nothing. He continued, his tone changed:
“You’re right, Mr. Banks; it is rather a serious matter. The first thing to do would be to arrest you. But I don’t propose to do that, because I want to see justice done.”
He looked at me steadily for a minute or two, then added:
“The truth of the matter is that I did not steal the money.”
I could only stare at him in blank astonishment. “Why not?” I managed finally to ask.
“Well, it’s true enough, isn’t it? I am an honest man.”
“So am I!” I protested.
“Yes. Well—I mean no—of course. What I meant—” he began, but he broke off, shaking his head as if to clear it.
“What do you mean? Tell me,” I persisted.
He stared across at me for a moment as if trying to remember how to speak; then he resumed:
“You’ve heard that I am going to marry your sister.”
“She tells me so.”
“And you have met my mother-in-law,” he said. “You know what she is like.”
He paused and seemed to gather strength from his cigar; he leaned forward in the chair and spoke firmly and clearly:
“This is what I’m telling you now, Mr. Banks: If you are ever to understand me you must believe that my marriage is the most important thing in the world to me. I love your sister; she has given me happiness no man can know unless he finds himself in the same situation.
But I do not wish to make her unhappy. That is why I have never spoken of it to anyone, nor will I speak of it again. You must never mention it either if you care for me. Do you agree?”
“Of course!”
“Then I am glad. I know it may seem odd, but there it is. When I became engaged to your sister, I decided to buy a ship and go out to sea for several years. Then—if all went well—I intended to return and settle down and live quietly.
I was to start in about six months’ time when the wedding had taken place.” He stopped speaking for a few moments, puffing gently on his pipe before continuing:
“But things have gone differently. Your father made up his mind to sell his ship in order to pay off his debts; he found a buyer at a figure he considered fair, but he still had a mortgage to pay on his house and was in danger of losing both; he asked me if I would lend him money until the sale went through.
Of course, I agreed. And so now I have to keep the ship and try to run it into something respectable, and my marriage must wait another year or two. This means that I must remain in London for much longer than I intended, which is why I am writing to you today.
I am going to try to make the best of it by getting my own affairs in order and making sure that my wife is provided for. But that won’t make me happy, I know. For the rest, I am quite satisfied with what my life has brought me so far, and I shall continue to lead an upright and honest existence. So now you know everything.”
I sat and stared at him in silence while he finished his pipe and put it out carefully in the ashtray. At length, I managed to croak out a few words: “Why did you write to me now?”
“Oh,” said Jack with a slight shrug, “it was because my wife has told me that you and I are good friends, and it occurred to her that you might be interested to hear this news.”
That was certainly true, as it turned out; I was indeed curious to find out what Jack’s future held. But it was hard to imagine him married to any woman.
“If there is anything more I can tell you, Mr. Banks, please let me know.”
“There is nothing more,” I assured him. “Except for one thing.”
Jack looked at me sharply. “Go ahead,” he said after a pause.
“Have you any idea where you came across those notes? Were they stolen, or were they—I don’t know how to put this delicately—a gift? Or perhaps you bought them from someone?”
He shook his head.
“They were a present, from my sister. She knows that I have never been able to part with my collection, so when she knew that I was marrying your sister she thought I should have a copy of the original set of the Shakespeare folios. She sent these over specially.”
“I am very grateful for the gesture, sir.”
“It wasn’t a gesture. We’re related by marriage, and it seemed a reasonable thing to do.”
His explanation seemed credible enough, although it sounded too neat and straightforward. I wondered whether it might not be more complicated than Jack made out. Perhaps he was keeping something back, something to surprise me.
It occurred to me also that it was possible that the notes were not genuine; perhaps whoever had given them to him didn’t really think that they were worth having, or didn’t even realize what he owned. But if that was the case then he ought to have told me straight away, and not left me wondering so long.
I could ask him directly if I wanted to, but I didn’t feel that it would be right; it felt disloyal somehow, as though I were trying to pry into his affairs. Besides, he wouldn’t want to answer me anyway; he liked to maintain the fiction that he was a simple man who led an ordinary life and that there was nothing more interesting about him than the fact that he was my friend.
We talked for a few more minutes, and then I left him, feeling somewhat lighter and happier about the world than I had done since the previous evening. As soon as we were out on the street he pulled me toward him and kissed me on the cheek.
“Well, well,” I heard him say under his breath once I had gone. “Now we can get along without being polite.”
It took me some time to calm down and stop giggling like a schoolgirl. When I returned to my hotel room I found that the postman had brought a small parcel; when I opened it, I found that it contained several volumes, each inscribed with a note from Jack.
The first book was A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the second Henry IV, the third Macbeth, and the fourth Richard II. All the books had been signed on their inside covers:
The Folio Club’s Secretary to its member,
JACK DICKENS.
And all the volumes bore the seal of the Shakespeare Folios Society, which was the mark of quality and authenticity. There was a card attached to the parcel, written in red ink.
Dear Tom,
I hope that this may give you some small comfort during these dark days. Please take care of yourself.
Love,
Bessie
The End