Jalna: Books 1-4: The Building of Jalna / Morning at Jalna / Mary Wakefield / Young Renny (13 page)

As though the
Alanna
had not had enough to contend with, she next had a narrow escape from collision with an iceberg. As it was early for these, there was perhaps not such a strict watch kept as should have been. Terrifyingly at dawn the monstrous, pale, cathedral-like form gathered itself together out of the mists. Some unusually hot weather had freed it from the mass. It loomed, rising out of the Gulf Stream, like cold malice made palpable. Yet it was shaped as a sacred edifice.

Shouts, warnings filled the air. Grigg was at the helm and doubled himself over it to force the ship from calamity. She just escaped but the chill air from the iceberg plunged those on board into sudden winter. Philip ran down to the cabin. Now Adeline had been convalescent for five days. She was beginning to draw on her clothes, frightened by the running footsteps, the shouts. She had not heard Philip leave her side.

“Are we taking to the boats?” she asked, in agitation.

“No. Nothing to worry about. But you must come on deck and see the iceberg. It’s stupendous, Adeline. You have your shoes and stockings on. Just put your cloak over your nightdress. You must not miss this sight.

He half-carried her to the deck. Now the iceberg was farther off. It had lost its terror and gained in beauty, for the sun, just showing a rim above the horizon, had touched a thousand facets into fire. It rose out of the green waves in majesty, ethereal as a dream, unsubstantial as hope. Yet deep down in the sea its icy foundation was greater than its visible part.

After the Gulf Stream there was cold again and tall green seas arose. As the
Alanna
dived into them a snowstorm whistled out on the wind from land, obscuring all but the nearest waves from sight. If more icebergs were around, the ship was at their mercy.
The lookouts posted high in the shrouds could see nothing but the myriad white flakes that swarmed over them, turning them into figures of snow, whipping their skin to rawness, blinding their eyes. It became so cold that the spray froze on the bulwarks, forming long sharp icicles like teeth shown in a grin.

The cabin passengers with the exception of Mrs. Cameron and her friends gathered in the salon, a little sad, yet resigned that their long intimacy was drawing to a close. But they would write to each other. They would not forget. They sat warapped in their travelling rugs trying to keep warm. Philip had got a large soapstone heated and this was at Adeline’s feet. The men sipped rum and water but she had a glass of port. Wrapped in her fur cloak, as well as her travelling rug, she was quite comfortable. She felt that she had returned from an individual voyage that had carried her near to death. When she thought of Huneefa, it was as of someone lost long ago.

D’Arcy and Brent brought out their guidebooks and maps and talked eagerly of their prospective travels in Canada and, more especially, in the States. The portholes were as though covered by cotton wool. All sounds on the ship were muffled, except that the cordage ran with the onslaught of the wind.

Out of all this they came at sundown into a navy-blue sea and a red sun glowing on its rim. The waves were streaked by foam, the icicles were diamond bright and then, wonder of wonders, they heard the whimpering of a gull and its shadow sped across the deck!

It was the first but others followed, circling and crying out to the ship, as though they carried a new message to her from a new world. A tall spout of water from a whale’s mouth rose bright out of the sea. He swam close to the ship, amazed at the size of this great bird, then leaped clear of the water and, with a glorious violent movement, disported himself in the air, smooth as silk, dripping and muscular. All from the cabin were now on deck and the monster seemingly was trying to show them his strength.

Captain Bradley was beaming his satisfaction. He said, his brown hands resting on the rail: —

“We shall land in Quebec before many days! I never arrive after a voyage like this without being struck afresh by God’s mercy in bringing us safely through. When you think of all that has passed since we first left Ireland — and here we are with land nearly in sight!”

“You might add that a large part of the credit is due to your own good seamanship,” said Philip.

“But God’s mercy is at the bottom of it,” said the Captain.

The next morning land was in sight. The weary travellers in the steerage crowded together to peer out at it. The air was crisp but kindly. Little crinkles ran across the surface of the long waves. The icicles dripped, then dropped into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The
Alanna
entered the mighty river. Green banks rose above the river and unfolded into dark forests. Tiny white villages came into view mothered by white churches with bright crosses on their steeples. Long narrow farms stretched close for comfort. Cattle stood near the river’s edge and the sweet smells of the land came out to meet the voyagers. Was it possible that only a few days before they had been in a snowstorm — that icicles had been hanging from the ship?

It was Sunday morning and Captain Bradley read the church service with the note of satisfaction and the thanksgiving still in his voice. There was a tiny organ in the salon on which Wilmott played the accompaniment to the hymn. The voices rose robustly, as though fear never had been their companion. The words were enunciated with satisfaction.

“Fierce was the wild billow,
Dark was the night;
Oars laboured heavily,
Foam glimmered white. Trembled the mariners;
Peril was nigh:Then said the God of Gods,
‘Peace: It is I.’ “Ridge of the mountain wave,
Lower thy crest;Wail of the tempest wind,
Be thou at rest.
Sorrow can never be,
Darkness must fly, Where saith the Light of light,
‘Peace: It is I.’”

Now Philip and Adeline were packing their belongings. Though some articles had been lost or worn-out during the voyage, they found the greatest difficulty in squeezing the remainder into their portmanteaux. Some fresh article always was turning up. Philip was irritated by the fact that he still had to be very careful of Adeline’s feelings. He would have liked to blame her for some of the disorder. Surely she was to blame for heaping travelling rugs and her own shoes and a dressing case on top of his best coat. When at last the packing was done, though badly enough, they suddenly remembered the ayah’s cabin and all that lay heaped and strewn in it.

Boney was furious at being put into his cage. He screamed and fretted there, flapping his green wings and throwing about seeds and gravel. Adeline’s voice came back to her, loud and strong in the stress of the moment.

“I can’t do any more!” she cried.

“Nobody’s asking you to,” snapped Philip and he added as he went out —“You’ve done too much already in the way of disorder.”

“What’s that you say?” she cried.

He did not answer.

She was weak but there was no need for her to totter as she entered the ayah’s cabin, or for her to sink panting on the side of the berth with her hand to her side. Her voice was now a fierce whisper.

“What was it you said?” she asked.

“I said, Goddamme, I never saw such a mess! I should have brought a valet from England.”

“What you really said was that this disorder was my fault.”

“You’re talking nonsense.” He grasped a handful of Gussie’s small garments. “What about these? Hadn’t we better leave them on board and buy her new things?”

“Leave them!” she almost screamed. “And they of the finest Irish linen and hand-embroidered! I will not leave one of them! Open that black box. There will be room in it.”

With flushed face he opened the box. She peered into it. “Where is the doll?” she asked.

“What doll?”

“The beautiful doll your sister gave to Gussie. Huneefa kept it in that box.”

“It isn’t here.”

“It must be. You must find it.”

He sat back on his heels and glared at her out of angry blue eyes. He exclaimed: —

“Have I come to this — that I must search for a
doll
at the moment of landing? It’s not enough that I should pack diapers but I must crawl about on my hands and knees searching for a
doll
! Egad, Adeline — ”

“Never mind,” she interrupted, frightened by the sight of his face. “Don’t search for it. It must be in the other cabin.”

Somehow they got their things together. Somehow a couple of stewards carried them toward the gangway, to the accompaniment of Boney’s screams. Philip carried the cage and kept his other arm firmly about Adeline. He said: —

“I sometimes wish we had never brought this bird.”

“Leave him behind,” she cried, “if he’s trouble! Leave him behind, and me too! You can get another woman and another bird in Quebec.”

He pinched her arm. “Behave yourself. People will hear you.”

“I don’t care! You were hurting me.”

“Well, I care, and I
wasn’t
hurting you.”

Wilmott came to meet them. “What a pity you have not been on deck! We have had a grand view of Quebec. You should have done your packing earlier. Can I help you in any way?”

Philip put the bird cage into his hand.

There was a great bustle and confusion. The air was full of shouts and the whimpering of gulls. The great white sails of the ship were drooping like weary wings. Barefoot sailors clung in the shrouds gazing down on the crowded pier. Adeline turned a smiling face on Wilmott. “What should we do without you?” she said.

“You know it is my pleasure to be of service to you,” he replied, somewhat stiffly, but a flush had risen to his sallow cheek. “You are feeling much better, aren’t you?” he added.

“I should be dead if I weren’t.”

“It is a good thing you found someone who could look after your child.”

“Merciful heaven!” cried Adeline. “Where is Gussie? Oh, Philip, where is Gussie? That terrible Scotchwoman has probably landed and gone off with her!”

“The ship has not docked yet,” said Philip, calmly. “The Scotswoman is an excellent creature and has no need of another child. I have arranged everything with her and paid her well. Here comes Patsy now with Augusta.”

He watched his approaching daughter a little grimly. She was perched on Patsy’s shoulder, grasping him around the head. Her clothes were crumpled and stained, her face and hands had a strange greyish cleanliness. The cloth that had washed them had seen so much service! However she looked distinctly less ailing than when Philip had transferred her to the steerage and she greeted her mother with a faint smile of recognition.”

“Oh, the darling!” cried Adeline, and kissed her. “Oh, Gussie, you do smell sour,” she added under her breath.

Boney decided to leave the ship head downward as he had come aboard. Clinging by his dark claws to the ceiling of his cage, he saw recognizable bodies moving about him. He felt the crisp May breeze in his face that had a very different flavor from the air below decks to which he had become accustomed. He turned it over on his tongue, not quite sure whether or no he liked it. Over the shoulders of those about he glimpsed the dark fortress with white clouds banked behind it — for Wilmott was a tall man and held his cage high.

Adeline felt strangely weak as she moved toward the gangway. She turned pale. Suddenly D’Arcy and Brent presented themselves and, gripping each other by the wrists, made a chair for her on which they implored her to seat herself. She looked questioningly at Philip. Would he allow it?

“A good idea,” he declared. “Thank you very much. Adeline will be delighted.”

So Boney saw his mistress carried off and screamed his approval. He heard the shouts of French porters, saw the carioles drawn by their horses, in line by the side of the pier. Some passengers were met by friends or relatives. Others had no one to meet them but stood disconsolate and confused beside their little mounds of luggage. The two young Irish girls were there, looking not quite so buxom as when they had first sailed. Adeline gave them her address and told them to come and see her the next day. Before D’Arcy and Brent set her on her feet, she gave each a kiss on his cheek.

Brent exclaimed — “Is there anywhere else we can carry you?”

“Faith,” added D’Arcy, “it would be no trouble at all to carry you to the top of the Citadel!”

The Scotswoman darted from her brood to plant a last kiss on Gussie’s little mouth.

“Eh, the poor wee bairn!” she cried.

Her own children, thinking she had deserted them, came howling after her. She turned to them and was lost to view.

How many priests there were about, thought Adeline, and how foreign everything looked! She felt better now, really exhilarated and eager to see her new home. Philip had got a carriage for her. Their three friends were going to a hotel. She had a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Cameron being met by relatives. Fascinated, she saw their astonished questionings, Mrs. Cameron’s tragic gestures. She saw her raise a black-gloved hand and point to Philip and herself. She stood motionless a moment, then threw the group a smile. “I may as well let them think I don’t care,” she said to herself, “for they hate me and my brothers and nothing can change that!”

Philip lifted her into the carriage and took Gussie on his own knee. The wheels rattled over the cobbles and up the steep narrow streets.

Adeline began to laugh rather hysterically. Philip turned his head to look at her.

“I was just thinking of the way Mrs. Cameron looked at me,” she said. “You’d think an elopement was a monstrous thing and that I had engineered it. For my part, I think that little Mary did extremely well for herself.”

I
T STOOD BEFORE
them, tall and a little severe, with a many-windowed façade. The knocker on the heavy door was a frowning gargoyle head. Philip’s firm knock echoed through the house. Adeline stood gazing at the small-paned windows, the frames of which were painted black with a narrow gilt rim. She exclaimed: —

“I can picture the old days here — satin breeches, powdered heads and all that!”

“Nice to think it is ours,” said Philip.