The Silver Darlings (43 page)

Dark figures pressed through the atmosphere, that was heavy with God’s holiness, going into the night. Alan’s voice was low but rough and hearty. “Here we are,” he said. His two sisters were already inside, and they
welcomed
Finn with administering kindness. They smiled,
their manners practical and friendly, active with quiet grace, the grace of their bodies and the assured grace of God. They gave him to eat and to drink, but his throat would take little, for there was a tremble in his breast, a weariness in his stomach beyond the weariness of death; his eye-sockets were hot as fire and his hand fell heavy on his knee. They were solicitous for him in a kindness that was almost gay. So Alan led him into the little room
beyond
the kitchen and there they went to bed together.

On his back, at once Finn felt a great peace, a lightening and floating of his body. Outside, larks were singing in the dawn. A curlew flew overhead in the fluting cry of rain. Peewits, disturbed by the dark figures, passed away into the moor. Oyster-catchers—Servants of Bride, Seumas had named them—called piercingly from the shore. Alan was restless and did not want Finn in his bed, did not want
anyone
or anything but the secrecy of his own dark thought. Finn knew this and knew why. But he could not help Alan—and did not greatly care. If wakefulness came on him now, his eyes would never more close in sleep until he died. The torment was working upon Alan swiftly. His hot breath was holding and quickening. He was in torture, in the torture of desire, of defeat. The desire of the defeated mind, craving in bodiless agony to have, to possess. Young Mary, the Mother of Christ.

“Oh, hell,” muttered Alan savagely. “Are you asleep?”

“No,” said Finn.

“Could you be doing with one?”

“I could.”

“Hush, then, for God’s sake! These girls will hear a pin drop.” They were as old as Alan himself.

He got out of bed, and when something bumped, he swore under his breath. Softly spoke a cork coming away from something bigger than a bottle. The running spirit glucked quietly. “Here,” whispered Alan. “It’s brandy.”

Finn sat up and took the bowl, Alan on his knees beside
him. The spirit stung the membranes of his mouth, and though he let it down gently, he coughed and Alan had to take the bowl from his hands. “Hsh, for heaven’s sake!” muttered Alan and drained the bowl noiselessly.
Gluck-gluck
. “Will you try another mouthful?”

“I will,” said Finn. “I have never tasted brandy before. It’s got a nice flavour.”

“It’s a good drop,” said Alan.

“Give me a little time,” said Finn.

Alan laughed huskily. “There are three brothers of them. One is a general in the army. One is in command of the Revenue cutter. The third is a ship’s master, and he runs a cargo of one thing from here—and he brings back a cargo of another thing with him.”

“And the brother on the Revenue cutter has sworn he’ll catch him one day, so I’ve heard.”

“He has that,” said Alan, on his knees in his shirt
waiting
for the bowl. “But he hasn’t caught him yet!”

“If this is some of it, it would be a great pity if he was caught.”

Alan laughed thickly again. “It’s not wasted on you!” he muttered.

“I feel the better of that,” said Finn.

“You will,” said Alan. “And the night is young. I don’t hold with drinking alone if it can be avoided. Sometimes it can’t.” He filled the small bowl again in a profound humour, with a soothed savage happiness. “Your health!”

“Health to yourself.” Finn lay back. “Sweet Mary, I’m tired,” he breathed.

“What’s that you said?” Husky and swift was the voice, and threatening.

“I said I was tired,” murmured Finn. “Sweet Mary.”

“Who—Mary?”

So Mary was her name! How strange the chance and how true! “Sweet Mary,” repeated Finn, caring no more for Alan, “the Mother of Christ.”

There was a stark pause. Then Alan’s voice rose, harshly
appalled. “By God,” he said, “it takes an East-coaster for blasphemy! And you, little more than a boy!”

“Are you not going to sleep in there?” called a voice from outside the door.

Alan remained silent and still for. some seconds. Then he said gruffly, “We’re going.”

“He needs sleep, Alan. He’s very tired.”

“Go to sleep yourself,” growled Alan.

“Alan!”

“Oh, go away!” roared Alan. “Leave us alone!” And he moved about on his bare shanks, muttering. Presently he listened. But the plaintive voice had apparently retreated. “That’s them!” he muttered, in a ferocious humour. “That’s them, and they hang on to you. Will you have another mouthful?”

“I’ll have a small one,” murmured Finn. “But it’s the last. I’m done.”

“Here, then.”

After taking a small mouthful, Finn handed back the bowl to Alan. When Alan had emptied it, he sat on the bed, talking in a mutter about women, not directly but with obscure personal meanings and hatreds. Finn’s blasphemy had taken a contorted grip of him. Finn knew that Alan hated him for it and yet was fatally attracted. It was an evil mood for Alan to be in and Finn wondered how he would get him into bed. To ask Alan to come to bed now was the only certain way of keeping him out. Finn felt the minds of the sisters in their kitchen bed, sweet in the grace of God, more sensitive than pain, their thoughts crying: Alan! Alan! But uplifted, with veiled lids, towards the region of God’s understanding and mercy, uplifted in shame not quite showing, held back into their hearts, hoping that what they shielded might not be seen.

And all at once he saw Alan caught in the tendrils of their mercy, as the sheep of sacrifice was caught in the thicket.

It was a queer, stark, dreadful vision.

Roddie—Roddie—caught in the thorns, too. Years, upon years, upon years.

“Have you no fear of blasphemy?” asked Alan, the harsh laugh held back. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll be stricken dead? Eh?”

“I’m not afraid,” said Finn. “There’s nothing a man should be afraid of in the wide world.”

“It’s the young hero, you are, what! Afraid of nothing?” Derisive laughter tore huskily through his choked throat.

But Finn’s mind for some reason had suddenly gone cold and austere. He could not help Alan. He could not help
anybody
. He was too far away. Here was the calm region of death, cold as a dead face. Of death and of release. No longer any sympathy for Alan, or for himself. An ultimate uncaring. The back of his head fell heavily upon the pillow, his breath came from him in a slow soft stream, and the grey light of the morning passed away.

CHAPTER XVIII

LANDING HERRING

E
arly on Monday, Seumas and Finn took the road back to Stornoway. Seumas was light and cool as water running in a burn. He refreshed Finn, and chuckled over Alan’s brandy.

Finn had not awakened until the afternoon of Sunday. Alan had made a great effort with a wry mouth. “We had a drop,” he said to Finn. “We needed it,” answered Finn, smiling, “though I could have done without this head.” The sisters were as kind as if nothing had happened. A
terrible
beautiful Sunday kindness. Finn’s dazed mind, caught in a thicket of pain and mist, wanted to escape, but Seumas had taken him along and introduced him to his family: the father and mother, three brothers and four sisters. One of the sisters was very attractive, with Seumas’s own
brightness
behind her grey eyes. So Finn hardly looked at her, for she was his own age and it was Sunday, and Seumas and himself went a long walk.

In the evening Alan was moody, and Finn’s head was worse. But he was feeling fine this morning, and Seumas’s secret news was something to bring back with him. For a man had come up to the Sunday meeting from the east
district
of Lochs, having crossed Loch Erisort by boat, with word that herring were so thick down Loch Odhairn way, that they had been seen early that morning flicking the water white, like a shower of hail-stones. Seumas, of course, knew the indebtedness of the
Seafoam
to the
Sulaire
,
and
when Finn asked if he might pass on the intelligence to the
Sulaire
, Seumas said, “Why not?”

Seumas was apparently not deeply impressed by the
religious
revival, though he did not say much about it, but he told Finn all about where the preacher came from, who certain persons were, and many strange stories of that part of the world. Finn admired his coolness, his light friendly manner. It made Finn think of having a bathe, and though Seumas said there was no good place because of the soft peaty ground, he found a spot when he saw Finn was set on it, but he would not let Finn swim out lest he should stick in the bottom.

As they approached Stornoway, a tremor of excitement caught Finn in the breast and he began to smile in an
embarrassed
way without knowing it. As Seumas and himself stood for a moment at parting, a door across the way opened and the
Seafoam
crew came out. Finn faced Seumas, saying, “Well, we may be seeing you to-night yet.” Then they caught up the crew and Callum asked, “Where have you young devils been?” Thus they all came together and walked on, while Finn told how Seumas had taken him to his home at Luirbost over the Sunday.

“I thought a lot of preaching would do him good,” added Seumas.

“And I hope he got it,” said Callum.

“Only ten hours of it,” replied Seumas.

They laughed at that. Roddie smiled. He was very quiet, the skin of his face unusually reddened, as if slightly
inflamed
. Finn saw he was gentle as a lamb, and probably in his own way deeply remorseful, but his head was up, as always, and his eyes steady.

A feeling of security came about Finn. For he had had his bad moments about what might have happened to Roddie. Not but that he would have faced up to anything. Yet it was good to have the crew together, to be walking to work at the nets. Callum and himself fell behind as the others went ahead with Seumas.

“Is it all right?” asked Finn with a glancing smile.

“God knows,” said Callum. “We had a terrible time after you left. Oh, terrific. It was the skipper of the
Sulaire
stopped him finally. You wouldn’t believe it. Turned him to a lamb. The last man, you would think, seeing—seeing how Roddie was indebted to him. Then they were going to lock him up. Big Angus’s jaw was broken. Donald George was a mess of blood and bruises. It was Maciver, the
fish-curer
, got Roddie free. Bain entered into security for him. But Donald George is swearing now he is going to have the law on Roddie. They say there’s going to be a case, and we’ll all be called as witnesses. Do you know how many bottles of whisky were smashed? Forty-nine.”

“Forty-nine!” echoed Finn.

“It’s a good number,” said Callum.

“Just one short of the fifty,” said Finn.

“You think he should have made it the round fifty?” Callum nearly laughed. Finn smiled nervously. “What the hell,” asked Callum, “made you behave like yon?”

“I don’t know,” said Finn. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

“Well, watch yourself, my boy. When you didn’t turn up last night and we saw Roddie’s uneasiness—not that he said anything—I could have skinned you. However, you’re here, and, I’m telling you, we have got to hold together now. One of the crew of the
Sulaire
passed us the tip. There are a few men after Roddie. They say they’ll get him yet. They say they’ll lie in wait for him somewhere and bash his head in. All the fishermen are annoyed. They have a strong belief here that when you spill blood you drive away the herring. I don’t know whether there’s anything in it or not. But they say it’s a fact. And if it is, then begod the herring will be heading for the Arctic for the next
twelve-month
!”

“Well, they’re not,” said Finn. “I know where there is herring and plenty of them.”

Callum looked at him and, as the others disappeared
round a corner, stopped. “What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes searching.

When Finn had told his story about the herring being in shoal in Loch Odhairn, Callum’s expression quickened like a boy’s and he jerked his right fist upwards. “If only we get into them!” His broad fair face lit up. “Come on! You’ll tell Roddie now.”

“You tell him,” said Finn.

Callum glanced quickly at him, his brows gathering over sharpened eyes as if he were trying to read in the dark. “All right!”

When the crew were by themselves, Callum said, “Listen here, boys.” And he told Finn’s story. Roddie looked at Finn. They all did. “It’s quite true,” said Finn, and gave circumstantial detail. They were strongly moved. “There’s one thing I asked Seumas,” Finn added simply. “He knew how the
Sulaire
gave us her herring, so I asked if there would be any harm in passing on the news to her skipper, and he said no. So you could tell him if you like,” concluded Finn with a glance at Roddie.

Roddie nodded, looked thoughtfully beyond them, then automatically began climbing down into the boat. Callum winked at Finn. “It’s a f-fine morning,” said Rob, glancing solemnly at the sky.

They lifted the damaged nets on to the quay, with the intention of taking them round to where the drift was
drying
. Mending could go on there with less publicity and greater comfort.

As Roddie and Henry went ahead, each with a folded net over his shoulders, Finn saw many people turn round and look after Roddie. He noted, however, that they did not stare until he passed.

Callum winked and smiled. “They won’t come in his way lightly,” he murmered, on a note of triumph ‘They’ll remember yon fight in Stornoway for a few years! He has no idea of his own strength. He’s a terrible fellow.” He almost shook his head.

Finn smiled.

“I don’t give a damn supposing what happens,” declared Callum. “If we get herring to-night—if only! O God.”

“Cold iron,” said Finn.

Callum laughed as at a hidden joke. Finn laughed, too.

“I’m glad you mentioned about the
Sulaire
. That was a fine stroke,” declared Callum. “You have some little sense in you, in spite of everything, I see. Did you notice that knot of folk looking at us and us laughing? They’ll be thinking we should be solemn as prisoners going to the jile! Little they know!”

“If they live long enough,” said Finn, “they’ll l-learn many a thing.”

That afternoon, Roddie had a long talk with the skipper of the
Sulaire.
About five o’clock, in a steady sailing wind from the sou’-west, the boats began to put to sea, the
Sea-
foam
among the first. When Henry gave a final tightening to the halyards, eased the mainsail sheet to a calculated inch, and had everything in the best sailing trim, he glanced at Roddie. Roddie seemed impervious to any enthusiasm, unaware even of the boat in front of him. But Finn saw the stem of the
Seafoam
caught again in her old wooden dream, launching forward, sheering the water in her hissing song, with invisible eyes not for the boat racing there in front but for the horizon beyond. “Let me go. Don’t hold me back. Don’t hold me back.”

“Take her weather,” said Henry.

Roddie could not have heard him. The sails might have reefs in. All strife was behind him.

They could see the members of the crew quite distinctly. One of them was the whispering fellow who had started all the strife. Finn recognized him and looked at Henry. Henry gave a small nod, his lips drawn in satire, for it was clearly a matter he could not mention to Roddie.

There was no holding the
Seafoam
back, however. She was overhauling the boat slowly but steadily. “Leave it to me,” sang the stem.

“He’s cutting you out,” cried Henry. “He’s trying to blanket you.”

But all Roddie did was to fall away a little more, as if giving in. Henry eased the sheet, his face darkening, his lips tight. Not another word would they utter!

Minutes passed. The race was set. Neither crew looked at the other. Nor, perhaps, could the
Dawn
,
heading for the fishing ground to the north, be directly accused of cutting her course too fine, or even over much. It was for any other boat to look out for herself. She held the seaway.

It became clear that Roddie must do something, or be knocked off his course before he could over-reach her to leeward. Dammit, he could not let her sit on them like that! They glanced at him surreptitiously, restlessly, tensely excited. Roddie put out his left hand and motioned backward with his fingers. Henry drew in the sheet in
imperceptible
inches until the fingers stopped him. Roddie’s eyes, from the peak of the mainsail, dropped back to stare expressionlessly ahead. He had slightly altered course. Excitement mounted. Neither was giving way…. There was going to be a collision…. Roddie would ram him!

Roddie did not ram him. He came in on his stern with a yard to spare and took his weather. It was a beautiful piece of seamanship. Two members of the
Dawn
yelled at them in rage, and the whispering fellow shook his fist. The
Sea
foam
drew slowly away, nothing now between the singing stem and its beloved horizon. Finn glanced at Roddie’s face and found it expressionless and uplifted as the stem. A
sudden
quick emotion, like a sting of tears, made him glance away—to see Callum giving a quiet shake to the tail-end of the sheet over the gunnel: a request to the
Dawn
if she wanted a tow! He laughed quickly. Henry’s eyes gleamed in triumph. Rob scratched his beard noisily.

“She’s a dandy!” cried Callum. “I would rather that than a hundred pounds.”

“What do you say?” asked Roddie quietly. But they saw
the smile in his eyes. Whereupon Callum clean forgot
himself
. “By God——”

“Cold iron!” yelled Rob.

“Give me the whole end of the boat-hook,” said Callum.

“Will you never learn how to behave yourself in a boat?” asked Rob, with loud disapproval.

“A man will learn many a thing,” said Callum, “if he lives long enough.”

When, well out to sea beyond Arnish Point, Roddie
suddenly
headed away on a southerly course, a sigh of relief (as Finn learned next day) went over the following fleet. They were well rid of that blood-spiller, if it’s herring they were looking for! He was probably ashamed of himself and wanted to be alone! Even the East Coast boats, though secretly elated over Roddie’s physical prowess, had no particular reason to believe in his luck as a fisherman. A wild enough devil of a Jonah to frighten any herring! Perhaps the dogs would follow him!

At the tail-end of the fleet, however, were two boats that headed south after him, and one other boat from Buckie that always kept an eye on the lucky
Sulaire.

Off the islands at the entrance to Loch Erisort, Roddie spilled the wind from his sails. All had gone according to plan, and when the
Sulaire
came up, the smiling skipper gave them a salute. The
Iolaire
was in her wake, and
Seumas
waved to Finn, as the
Seafoam
’
s
head fell away and
followed
. Fifty yards behind, the
Mary
Ann
was coming quietly, as if she couldn’t overtake anyone though she tried. But she had lines to her, as Finn pointed out.

“She could give any of us a clean pair of heels, that one,” said Roddie simply.

“Would she?” cried Callum, challengingly.

“She can sail into the eye of the wind as near as makes o difference,” added Roddie.

“That’s not everything,” said Callum.

“She’s smart on her feet as the Buckers themselves,” Henry said. “And they can handle her.”