Hollow Sea (29 page)

'Call out,' Mr. Hump said, not looking towards them, not smiling. He took a notebook from his back pocket, and got his pencil ready. 'Ready,' he said.

'When I call out the name and number – you pin this to the tunic pocket. Right. Cruickshank, G. Number 1030682. Got that? Right. Put him back on the floor. Murphy, P. W. Number 81905. Ready again. Evans, J. L. Number 57519. Ready again. Yes. Yes. All right. Christ! I told you – put each man back where you got him from, when you got twenty put the boat cover on 'em. Nineteen. Right, Mr. Hump, sir. Number 88113. Purves, J., Jack, I expect. Jack Purves. He's a Lanes. Co. Poor sod.'

Mr. Hump scribbled rapidly in his book. The bosun came below again.

'O'Grady! Bring all spare canvas from the storeroom, Damn! I told you hours ago we wanted all the canvas we could find. Isn't enough here.'

'All right – all right,' the man replied, a begrudging, harassed tone in his voice.

Vesuvius blew his nose with the black rag. 'Phew!' he said. 'Right, Mr. Hump. Clarkson, F. J. Gunner. Number 10951. Got that? O.K. Next.' The men moved farther along the 'tween-decks uncovered a second group of bodies. 'Of course it's pretty bad,' thought Williams, 'but I suppose Mr. Dunford is right. Anyhow, if they say bury them, at least we'll know who we've buried and who we haven't. Seems to me we're going to be quids in on overtime this trip, all right.' His sing-song voice, dreary, with the sharp accent only proper to his native tongue, drifted across the cavernous hold. This, and the hum of the engines, were the only sounds to be heard. Vesuvius kept wiping his face, he dabbed the rag to his nose. If he looked left, he saw white faces still under the light. If he looked right, he saw faces. Faces were everywhere. And he closed his eyes sometimes, he could not look at them all the time. Why were they covered by boat canvas? Why did they begin to fill the lower deck with that repulsive odour?

'Right there,' Williams said. 'Next lot. Bosun, is it true we're transferring all these bodies to D deck?'

Bosun: 'I heard nothing about it. Get on with the job. Want me to stand here all night, do you?'

'Is that you, Turner?'

No answer. 'Seven three, Mr. Hump. Seventy-three in your book, then?'

Mr. Hump said, '
Yes
 
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yes
 
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' a half-hearted, plaintive, pathetic yes. 'There's the bell, you fellers. Cover those fellers up. You'd better go up the ladder for a breather. Stand by for relief. Oh! here's my mate now.'

Mr. Tyret's mate was descending the steel ladder, coming straight from the deck into number one hold.

'Oh, there you are!'

The bosun waited until he was beside him. 'Sit down a minute. 'Scuse me, Mr. Hump.'

'Er – I don't know what's happening aboard here, and that's a bloody fact. But these men, they've been taking inventories, or whatever you call them, half the afternoon, and the orders are that all the dead be laid in the after hold: that is, D deck. Maybe the Captain is expecting a bright idea to strike him on the head at any moment. I don't know. Personally, I hope a very original one hits him. Just look at the position. Half those wounded fellers will peg out before we get to port. We'll be a real death-ship then. However, it's no use talking, all we got to do is to carry out the orders. Put them all aft. Group them according to the draft they were in, and cover them with the boat-covers. We may get orders to put them overboard, you never know, but I should think myself that the port authorities will make some trouble about it. The most peculiar thing to me is that nobody gives a goddam about us, us who're alive. We've been signalled twice to-day, only natural, this bloody place is alive with subs, floating mines, enemy destroyers. And Dunford has given the information. But what seems extraordinary – Mr. Ericson was telling me this – is that when he tells them we've a large number of dead on board, they say nothing. What d'you think about that, mate?'

'They just don't give a hang, that's all,' replied the bosun's mate. 'That's the only way of looking at it. On the other hand, there's so many goddam ships on the water that it's easy to be overlooked.'

'Rubbish! How can you overlook twenty thousand tons?'

'Why not? They overlooked hundreds of dying men at three-thirty this morning and said beggar you to everything, d'you mind? so long as they got that bloody old beach of theirs.'

'Now I can see you're getting real personal about this, bosun's mate. Take my advice! Don't! You never know what'll come of it all! Shouldn't think hard! Let them do the thinking. We do the work. When it's all over, maybe we'll get our chance to do some talking. But not now, no sir, not now. Just listen with your ears, take the orders, and say nothing. This man's war has nothin' to do with us. And it never has, mate. I mind the last time I was trooping and it was the Boers then. Sometimes I wonder if it can't just be all piffle. Like that, see.' He flicked finger and thumb in the air. 'Well, go to it! You got your orders
 
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'

He went to the ladder. 'There's the bell, you men. I don't have to say one – two – three! I'd be too damned late, anyhow.

'
 
'Course I would,' he was saying, as he climbed out of the hold, for not one of his watch was to be seen. They had vanished on the first stroke of the bell. He heard men talking, feet on ladders, clumsily descending. Good! The bosun's mate's watch was out.

'Now for my cart,' said the bosun, 'You can't beat the old cart. I hope that greedy mate of mine hasn't gone and eaten all my sardines.'

He went along the deck, head down, seeing nothing. There was nothing to see. Water! Well, he was always seeing that. The waters wouldn't miss his glance, that curious questioning eye that scanned them from time to time, but which to-day was closed to their mystery and distance. 'Hello! Cook! Just been over. Good! I'm as hungry as an elephant.' He slapped the cook on the back. 'Say, cook, when you bin where I've been, you say to yourself, "Jesus. It's great being alive and feeling hungry!" But you haven't bin in those 'tween-decks. It's mustard, white face. Bloody mustard.' Laughing, he went to his room.

'T
HANK
the Lord,' thought Dunford. 'Things are becoming normal again. There's more space. More room to breathe.' He stood in the deserted saloon. How different it was forty-eight hours ago. He pulled a gold hunter from his vest-pocket. A few minutes to go. He was sitting waiting for the engineer, Mr. Walters, the carpenter, Ericson, the bosun. Ah! Here was somebody coming at last. He looked towards the door.

'Morning, sir, rather hot; afraid it'll be a sweater to-day.'

'Good morning, Mr. Walters!' He had a good look at the chief steward. 'I see very little of you,' he went on. 'As for Mr. Hump, I haven't seen him twice since the trip began.'

Mr. Walters stood very upright, hands behind his back, he swayed to and fro, balancing on his toes, then on his heels, a gentle rocking movement. The extreme weight seemed to lie amidships. Dunford could not help but look at the half-moon, the great protruding waist. Mr. Walters was dressed up in his 'best.' Another arrival.

'Morning, sir.' A man of few words this. The engineer sat down, began drawing imaginary figures on the highly polished table. Dunford looked at Walters again. He seemed very far away indeed, he was looking out over the waters. Clear, blue waters these. Oiliness, and a dead surface that belonged to a different sea.

'See nothing of you at all,' said Dunford, laughing; 'what the devil do you do in that room of yours, Mr. Pearson? I get your precious notes regularly, of course.'

'I do simply nothing, Mr. Dunford. Simply nothing.' He dug his hands into his pockets.

'Um!' Dunford said. 'Ah! here's the carpenter and bosun.' He got up from the settee. Ericson was coming along the saloon-deck when the party stepped out.

'I dont really need you, Mr. Ericson. Go back to the bridge. You never know what might suddenly pop up.'

The party went slowly for'ard. Mr. Ericson returned whence he came. Mr. Dunford walked in front, Mr. Walters talked about the affair of Y.125. Carpenter and bosun came behind. They talked about women. Who were the most beautiful? The bosun said Circassians. The carpenter said, 'I prefer men any time!' They came to a halt at the end of the saloon-deck. It wasn't a signal. Each man halted as though instinctively. There was a heavy head swell running now. The sun beat down unmercifully. Flies were everywhere. Mr. Walters spread a white handkerchief out, placed the corner of it under his cap. It trailed down, covering his neck.

The bosun and carpenter now took priority of place.

'Yes, sir. All ventilators excepting B deck are down. Yes, sir. We cleared away wreckage for'ard last night.'

'So I see,' Dunford said. 'We must have a temporary ladder there!'

'I'm putting one there this evening, sir,' said the carpenter.

'Good!' Mr. Dunford went slowly down the ladder, slowly, hesitatingly, as though he were counting each of its dozen brass-topped steps. The others followed.

'What a confounded mess,' he thought. 'The decks are filthy.'

But he would not mention anything about this. No! It certainly wouldn't be fair. The men were hard at it now as it was, and he didn't envy any man working down those 'tween-decks. Plenty to do below! However, let's get for'ard. Time was short. Mountains of work ahead. Number one hatch had a great tarpaulin covering it. As they went quickly along the well-deck, the man in the nest looked down at them.

'Inspection,' he said. 'H'm! Bloody inspection.' Then he completely forgot them. Distance ahead – anything might happen – anything might suddenly appear on the horizon. Certain hollow sounds were heard whenever the look-out man stumped about in the steel basket.

The party passed up the alleyway. The lavatory door still swung by one hinge. Mr. Dunford never even glanced at it. There was the bosun's room just inside the alleyway on the port side. By heavens! Damned good job both men were out when that shell struck. Right over their heads. The door was hooked back. A man was sleeping in the lower bunk. The room smelt stuffy. But it was very tidy. To the right another room. Quartermaster's room. Here, also, slept the carpenter. He now opened the door and threw it back for all to see. And everybody stared in, heard snores, saw curtains drawn across a top bunk. The carpenter closed the door again. They went on. Fo'c'sle now.

They could smell the smoke-laden atmosphere long before they reached the door. Strange, the watch below were not sleeping. Mr. Dunford wondered why. A good quarter of an hour to seven bells. There was fierce argument. But this ceased abruptly when the Captain, followed by the others, stepped inside. The men stood up, Mr. Dunford said drily: '

'Sit down! Sit down!'

There were half a dozen of them at the table. The party passed them, all came to a halt at the top. The fo'c'sle peggy, a boy of fifteen, was standing at a smaller table upon winch there stood a huge zinc basin. This was piled high with greasy dishes. The surface of the water was thick with grease. All they could see of the boy was his head. The rest of his body was entirely hidden by the table and zinc bath. Seeing the party come up, he put down the plate he was drying and stood to attention. A lock of black hair lay almost over one eye. Mr. Walters looked at the boy, who suddenly laughed.

'What are you laughing at?'

'Nothing, sir.'

Mr. Dunford looked at Mr. Walters. Perhaps it was the handkerchief draping the bull-like neck and shoulders.

'Do you always strap up, boy, just a quarter of an hour before the next meal?'

The boy looked from face to face.

'No, sir,' he said. 'There's been a man sick, sir, and I only just finished scrubbing the deck, sir. I was just.
 
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when.'

Mr. Dunford walked round the corner. The deck was scrubbed white. And yet he looked all round. A sort of heavy, malodorous atmosphere, stuffy air, dark bulkheads, closed ports, bunks made, and bunks all a-tangle of coats, caps, blankets, jerseys. Heavy oilskins hanging from the deck-head. One's nostrils full of smoke, shag, cigarettes, and something worse than shag. He came down the port side again, looked at the men seated round the table, and here and there in the cracks coins glittered as the swinging bulb of light caught them. He looked from bunk to bunk. Drew a curtain, paused, drew it back again. One of the men stood up.

'Is this the man?' asked Mr. Dunford, as he turned away from the line of bunks. The other stood up.

'All right! sit down now! I said
sit
down!'

'Yes, sir. That's him. Special look-out. But he's all right now, sir. Going up at twelve, sir.'

What is the matter with him?'

'Just sick, sir. We brought him in from the scuppers. But he's all right now, sir.'

Mr. Dunford walked down the fo'c'sle and out through the door. He made no comment whatever. The party followed after him. He called the bosun. Mr. Tyrer walked beside him, expecting every moment to be reprimanded, asked questions. But no word was spoken. Mr. Dunford merely wanted the bosun's silent company. They were going to the starboard fo'c'sle where the firemen slept. Dark, the air buzzing with flies; somebody's phlegm on the open lavatory door. Breadcrumbs smearing the black deck. Coal-dust patterning everything. Darker fo'c'sle, dimmer light, seen from a distance it put a nasty taste in Mr. Dunford's mouth. He thought of old clothes-shops, mould, burning mutton. He passed in, looked round. It was tidy. He passed out again.

'We had better work from A deck, bosun,' he said. Abaft of number one hatch stood the house. Port and starboard doors led one to twin ladders, which ran down flush to the first 'tween-deck. They went in by the port door. Mr. Dunford took a torch from his pocket and flashed it on the ladders. When they reached the hold, they found a light there, one light from a cluster of ten.

'Well,' thought Mr. Dunford, 'they've been busy, anyhow!' He looked around. Everything tidy again. Hatch to the lower deck had been battened down. It was now covered with a large sheet of canvas. The bunks were empty. Mattresses piled, tied with rope. Bundles of rubbish, discarded clothing, the toe of a grey sock stuck out from one. Dunford's eye saw this first.