A Million Tears (21 page)

‘Sit up bach, if you can manage. I’ve got a bit of broth here for you and a nice omelette to follow. Can you manage?’ she asked, concerned when Evan winced.

‘Aye, I’ll be all right in a couple of days. I just need some rest, that’s all. Where’s Uncle James?’

‘I had to take a cabin for him in second class because that’s all there was. He insists that as soon as you can move we’re to have it and he’ll come down here with the boys. I argued but he was adamant. Oh yes . . . you know that present he gave Sion for us and which we weren’t to open until we got to sea?’ She waited for Evan to nod. ‘Well, it was fifty pounds.’

‘What . . .’ Evan spluttered, half choking on a mouthful of soup.

‘I thought that might surprise you,’ she said. ‘It shocked me too, I can tell you. It was nearly the cost of his cabin, so I suppose it’s just as well.’

Evan had his breath back. ‘Meg, could you promise me in future when you tell me something like that you’ll at least wait until I’ve finished eating my soup?’

‘Drinking soup . . . and does that apply to anything else, like tea?’ She teased him.

‘Anything I happen to be putting into my mouth at the time. Good Lord Meg, that must have been a hell of a lot of his savings. Why did he do such a thing?’

‘He said something about not having much use for it for much longer. Oh, and he still has another little nest egg to live on.’ She handed Evan the omelette. ‘Now, tell me what happened,’ she said anxiously. ‘Uncle James wouldn’t tell me; he said I had to wait for you.’

‘I guess you’ve got a right to know,’ he said quietly. In a voice devoid of expression he told her the whole story. Afterwards they sat in silence for a few seconds.

‘Meg, when I thought I wasn’t going to come back I knew none of it was worth the risk. Nothing is worth the worry I caused you nor the risk of never being able to hold you again.’ He took her hand, ‘I’m sorry.’

She smiled wanly, leaned forward and kissed him. ‘I’m glad it was Uncle James and not you who killed Sir Clifford and I’ll thank him for saving your life. She saw his eyelids drooping and the effort he was making to stay awake. ‘Go to sleep, Evan,’ she said softly, and within seconds he had.

For most of the remainder of the week Evan stayed in his bunk. He found the shower room, and as it had been for Meg, it was the first time he had taken a shower. He was regaining his strength by leaps and bounds and by the Sunday he was fit enough to attend the service, taken by the captain. Dai still refused to attend.

After the service Uncle James detained Meg and Evan in the saloon over a cup of tea while the boys slipped away.

‘My God,’ said Evan. ‘Sorry,’ he added, catching Meg’s baleful stare, ‘I forgot it was Sunday. I was going to say before I was interrupted by that look that just this voyage makes it all worth while. Who’d have thought it? All this, nice weather,’ he waved his hand towards the blue sky outside, ‘and a peace that I guess comes from . . . What does it come from?’

Meg laughed, ‘You’re impossible.’

Evan relaxed and stretched his legs out. The pain had subsided to a throb and irritating itch which he scratched absent mindedly.

Meg put her hand in his. She had not seen him looking so well in ages. Wales and the dangers of that last night were behind them, forgotten. At least, if not forgotten, then put aside, ignored and when they intruded pushed away again by a touch of the hand, a gentle squeeze.

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do when we get to America?’ Uncle James asked. ‘I’m not prying,’ he added hastily, ‘I just wondered.’

‘Uncle James, ask as much as you like, you have every right to,’ answered Evan, ‘and the answer is yes and no. I have an idea but I’m not too sure about it yet. David and Maud gave me the clue. In fact two clues. Would you like to hear what I have in mind?’

‘Of course we would,’ said Meg in some exasperation, pouring another cup of tea. ‘We’ve been talking about it for months.’

‘Well, the first thing is that business about borrowing money.’ Seeing Uncle James’ quizzical look he explained. ‘It’s simple. David dressed like a well-to-do merchant and persuaded the banks to lend him enough money to open a decent shop instead of the smaller one he would have ended up with if he didn’t get a loan. The second point was what he said about warehouses and shipping stuff in and out – you know Meg, buying direct from the docks. He showed me his books and explained what he thought was going to happen. Of course, he hasn’t been open long enough to know if his plans will work. But I think they will.’ He paused to sip some tea. ‘Meg, remember the book on America you brought home, all about the frontier towns? And how they’re crying out for goods? . . . Well, that’s the answer. If we can find a suitable place, I think preferably with a railroad, we set up a large shop or even . . . say a distribution centre sort of place. I guess it’ll be a kind of warehouse to supply shops . . .’

‘Hang on a minute, Evan bach,’ interrupted Uncle James, ‘don’t get carried away. That takes a lot more money than we have at the moment or are even likely to have for a long time. Come out of the clouds boy,’ he said not unkindly, ‘and let’s start with a shop.’

‘Yes, Evan,’ Meg added, ‘we can start with a shop and see how it goes from there.’ She frowned. She knew once Evan got an idea it took a lot to dislodge it.

‘No, listen, both of you,’ Evan continued. ‘What if I go to more than one bank and get a lot of short term loans? Wasn’t that what David called them?’ Meg nodded. ‘Right. I go to one and deposit some money . . .’ he talked on for a while but could not persuade them it was worth trying.

Finally, though, Uncle James admitted: ‘The decision has to be yours and yours alone,’ which made Evan nod soberly.

Dai and Sion returned, both nodding to Uncle James and grinning hugely.

‘Ah, well,’ said Uncle James, stretching and faking a yawn, ‘time for a nap I think. How about you two boys? Feeling tired?’ Much to their parents surprise they both yawned and stretched too, aping Uncle James unconvincingly and said they were.

The three were about to leave when Uncle James stopped and reached into his pocket. ‘By the way, you’d better take the key to your cabin. Dai, have you got ours?’ He walked after the boys, grinning.

Meg and Evan were so taken off balance they had no time to protest. The key on the table was for Uncle James’ second class cabin. The boys had been busy exchanging their parents belongings with Uncle James’.

Captain John Buchanan, master of the
SS Cardiff
, was sitting in his chair on the bridge. They were eleven days out from Cardiff and until a few moments earlier he had been a happy man. The voyage had gone well so far. There were the usual ups and downs with the first class passengers – but that was only to be expected.

The ship was fitted with the latest Morse receiving and transmitting equipment and sometimes, like now when the weather report threatened storms, he wished he did not have it. All it did was add to his problems. Furthermore, the reports were often wrong. How could those on land a thousand miles away predict what the weather was going to do here, he thought? All right, so a front had passed over New York a few hours previously, heading in this direction. Anything could happen to it in the meantime. The glass was steady and the cloud of nimbo stratus was about what he would expect for the time of year. The breeze was freshening from the north-west and backing slightly, but nothing to worry about, not yet at any rate. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

‘Officer of the Watch, tell Mr Beddows to prepare the ship for bad weather. Nothing serious but batten down all hatches not in use and check all compartments.’

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ the young third officer replied.

What Captain John Buchanan did not know and had no way of knowing was the warm front the signal referred to had joined with an earlier cold one to give an occluded front. A depression was forming to the north west, twelve hours steaming ahead.

During the late afternoon the wind backed further and began blowing whitecaps, gusting to a wind strength of four to five on the Beaufort scale. It was far from dangerous but caused a beam sea. The ship began to roll in a manner which was exhilarating for those who were not seasick and downright unpleasant for those who were.

Evan and Sion took to their bunks after an early dinner. Meg, with a few words of sympathy placed a useful bucket in their cabins and went up on deck to watch the waves with Uncle James and Dai.

Shortly after sunset the upper deck was placed out of bounds to all passengers on the captain’s orders. Less than ten percent of the passengers were not in their bunks and Meg was the only one of her family not feeling ill.

John Buchanan knocked the glass again. The pressure had fallen from 1010 millibars at midday to 981 at 2100 that evening. He had no need of a weather forecast to tell him they were in for a rough night. He had been at sea since he was fifteen and had served on everything from a trawler to a scabby coaster to this, the ultimate ship. He had run away as a lad to make a life of his own but had ended back in the family business with the only offer that could have attracted him – captain of the most luxurious liner in the world. He was not particularly worried because his senses told him the eye of the storm would pass far to the north and within twelve hours at most it would be behind them. He disliked bad weather because it upset the passengers, some acting as though he was to blame for their discomfort.

He stood at the front of the bridge peering into the black, rain-swept night, praying they would not meet another ship. He had doubled the lookouts and had one man in the forepeak who was changed every half an hour. The ship rolled heavily and he braced himself. She veered a point to starboard.

‘Steady on the helm,’ the captain said quietly. The greater the pressure the quieter he spoke. His crew had known him long enough to beware when he was in such a mood.

‘Aye, aye, sir,’ replied the helmsman, steadying the ship on her course of two five zero degrees. Another roll and the ship paid off half a point but the helmsman was ready for it this time and corrected quickly.

By 2230 hours there was a gale force eight on the beam and the ship was rolling heavily, though she was in no danger. It would be very uncomfortable, especially for those in steerage, poor sods, thought Buchanan. But if he turned to port to put the sea on the quarter he would be late in New York, especially if the storm pushed him a long way south. He would have to steam back north to get to Boston . . . time, speed and distances went through his head. The gale would make him late, and he hated the thought but some things could not be helped.

‘Come two points to port. Officer of the watch: plot a new course and let me know our distance to go as of eight o’clock in the morning. Call me in my cabin in a little while. I’m going to do rounds myself. Also pass on to your relief I want to be called if the glass drops more than another two millibars.’ It had been steady for nearly an hour at 978. It looked as though the storm was already abeam, sooner than he had expected.

He put on a sou’wester and went out onto the platform on the port side of the bridge, known as the bridge wing. There was no need for him to do rounds but he liked to at times like this. It let the crew know he was about. Not like some captains, he thought sourly.

He gripped hold of a stanchion as a wave crashed over the deck, the spray adding its wetness to the rain washing over him. If the truth were known he was actually enjoying himself. He watched the waves for a few minutes, gauging how his ship behaved and was pleased with what he saw. There was not a break in the clouds and the rain lashed down on his handsome, upturned face. A streak of lightning lit the world for a split second, showing the towering seas, now on their starboard quarter.

He steadied himself climbing down from the bridge to the deck below. Carefully he made his way forward, the occasional wave which swept over the deck making the wooden planks underfoot slippery and treacherous. Once or twice he almost fell.

‘Hullo, Jones,’ he startled the lookout standing right in the bow of the ship. ‘It is Jones, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir. Cor’blimey, the ole man hisself. I’d heard he did things like this but I never would have believed it.

‘Keep a good look out,’ Buchanan yelled, the wind whipping his voice away and making it hard to be heard. ‘Have you checked your voice pipe with the bridge recently?’

‘Every time we change, sir,’ yelled Jones.

‘Good. Goodnight Jones,’ Buchanan turned back, glad to duck from the stinging spray and sea.

Meg had been unable to sleep as the ship’s motion became more exaggerated. She returned to the saloon, kneeling on one of the seats and peering into the darkness to enjoy watching the waves crash over the ship’s side. There was something so raw and harsh about it, something frightening and exciting at the same time.

She felt the ship turn to port and immediately the rolling reduced. All in all it was a much more pleasant motion. A few minutes later she was about to leave the saloon when she saw a figure coming towards her. Suddenly the ship yawed unexpectedly and rolled heavily. Meg saw the man thrown off balance and fall against the saloon’s bulkhead. She did not hear the crack of his head hitting the handrail nor did she see him get up again. She turned to run for help but the ship rolled again, throwing her back against the seat. She saw a wave sweep over the deck and the body washed into view. In horror she saw him slide towards the guard rails and just when she thought he would be lost overboard he jammed against one of the uprights supporting the rail. Instinctively, she knew the next wave would sweep him away before she could find help. For a few seconds she hesitated and then hurried to the door. She knocked her shins on tables and chairs, bumped her thigh painfully on something but at last reached the exit. She unlatched it to have it blown violently from her grasp. The rain and wind swept in and Meg gasped at the sudden cold. Her heavy skirt, blouse and sweater were no protection against the weather.