The Building of Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

D’Arcy and Brent, returned from the Catholic Chapel and told how they were not able to get inside the building for the Mass but had to kneel in the churchyard with the overflowing crowd. Conway, Sholto, and Mary wandered along the shore. They had begged to be excused from church and Mrs. Cameron would deny her daughter nothing. Also she had heard of an epidemic of fever going about in the town and surely Mary would be safer on the shore with two boys to look after her.

      The hour of sailing came and down the cobbled street moved all the conglomeration of objects that had been removed from the ship. The luggage came bumping and rattling over the stones. The lievestock was harried, driven, and prodded toward its quarters — all but the little goat, Maggie, who trotted on as gaily as she had trotted off. The ayah looked less fragile after her weeks on land but she wore an expression of foreboding as she glided on to the ship holding the baby close. Gussie, in her turn, clutched her wax doll in its silk crinoline and bonnet. The doll was large, a load of Gussie’s tiny arms, so, as the ayah stood with her in the stern and gazed at the churning of the water as the ship moved away from the pier, Gussie leaned forward and let the doll fall overboard. She looked around slyly at the ayah’s face. “Gone,” she remarked, and it was the first word she had spoken.

      For an instant the pink face smirked up at them out of the foam, the crinoline was inflated, then there was nothing. The ayah broke into a storm of Hindu reproaches. She hissed these at Gussie in a terrifying way and shook her but Gussie knew the ayah was her slave.

      The sun came out brilliantly, gilding these last moments of departure. The hurry and scurry were over. All was neat and shining. The decks were clean. The brass of the railings and the officers’ buttons gleamed. The sails took in a little of the breeze as though testing its quality, then received it in its fullness and spread themselves white and rounded before the masts. Now there was no dreadful listing of the deck, only a tremulous, happy quiver ran across it as the Alanna rose and dipped on the small waves.

      Philip and Adeline stood with fingers locked looking back at the land. The town, the mountains of Clare, the movement of figures in the foreground, were still so clear — like a painted picture before them. They could see a tall woman driving a pig into the sea. She had tied a string to its hind leg. She had tucked up her skirts and waded in after it. She began to scrub it with all her might while it squealed in a manner to split the heavens. Then they saw her drive it out, white as a pearl, all its filth left behind it, a very angel of a pig to look at.

      “Oh, the lovely pig!” cried Adeline, laughing in delight. “I do wish my brothers had been here to see that! Why don’t they come up from below? Do you know, Philip, that little Mary is wonderfully improved. You should have seen her settling her mother in and fetching her a cup of tea to drink. Why — look! The post chaise and horses! Merciful heaven, Philip, ’tis my father and mother and the wee Timothy with them and the four horses all in a lather!” Her voice broke into a scream. “Philip, stop the ship!”

      For a moment he stood stock-still in consternation. He saw his father-in-law leap from the box, throw the reins to the coachman, and assist his wife to alight. He saw him take off his hat and wave it, motioning the ship to stop. The space between them was steadily widening. Philip ran along the deck for a few strides, then halted.

      “The Captain will never do it,” he said.

      “He must,” she declared, and flew toward the wheelhouse where the first mate had the wheel in his hands.

      “Oh, Mr. Grigg!” she cried. “You must turn back! There are my father and my mother on the pier — come to get just one more glimpse of me! I can’t leave them like this.”

      “It’s impossible,” he declared. “I would na turn back for the Queen of England. It’s against all rules.”

      “I’ll take the responsibility.”

      “I canna let ye!”

      “I’ll take the wheel from you!”

      “I canna let ye do that.”

      She put her hands on the wheel and strove to turn it. She was strong and she actually was changing the course of the ship. He cried in a panic: —

      “How daur ye? Ye’ll have us on the rocks, wumman! Let the helm loose!”

      The passengers were crowding about.

      Philip came and took her by the wrists.

      “Come away,” he said. “I’ve spoken to the Captain. He cannot turn back. Come and wave to your parents or it will be too late.”

      She burst into tears and, breaking away from him, ran weeping down the deck. The tears blinded her and at first she saw only a distorted image of her parents on the pier. As their figures became clearer she was horrified to see how they had lessened. Why, they looked no more than dolls! There was her formidable father looking no more than a doll — a doll that shook its fist at the receding ship. Or perhaps at her! She might never know which. Her last earthly vision of him might be of him shaking his fist at her and the ship. She put her palms to her quivering mouth and threw kisses to the fast-diminishing figures of her parents and her young brother.

      She saw James Wilmott standing at her side. There was a strange expression on his sombre face. He spoke in a new voice: —

      “Darling girl,” he said. “Don’t cry. I can’t bear it. Please don’t cry.”

      At that moment Philip reached her other side. To take her mind off her disappointment, he said: —

      “Where are Conway and Sholto? They should come and wave good-bye.”

      “It is too late! Too late!”

      “Shall I bring them?”

      “If you like.”

      He strode off.

      On the dock near her people she could see a little group of the relatives of the steerage passengers. They were huddled mournfully together as though for comfort.

      The ship was now caught by a fresh wind. She mounted an on-rushing green billow. There was a straining of cordage, a great bulging of white sails. She leant, as though joyfully, she came about, the land was hidden and, when once more it was visible, it was far away and no more had any relation to the ship.

      Mr. Wilmott offered his arm to Adeline.

      “May I take you to your cabin?” he asked.

      “Thank you.” She leant on him gratefully.

      “I hope you will forgive and forget the way I spoke a moment ago,” he said. “I am a lonely man and your friendship is very precious to me. I was moved by your tears. But — I had no right to say — what I did.”

      “You are kind,” she said. “You are a friend. That is all that matters.” From beneath her wet lashes her eyes looked gently into his.

      With Adeline still leaning on his arm they went slowly down the deck. Sea gulls swung and circled above them. One even alighted on the top of a mast and sat tranquil as a ship’s figurehead.

      V

       THE SECOND VOYAGE

      WHEN ADELINE ENTERED her cabin and saw her hand luggage heaped there and realized that another voyage in this cubbyhole lay before her, she had a moment’s feeling of desperation. What experiences might she and Philip have to face! They were leaving behind all they knew and loved, setting out for the unknown. She realized this much more than on the first voyage. The thought of her mother standing weeping on the dock came back to torment her. Even her father seemed pathetic for the moment.

      She could not bear to begin unpacking yet. She would first see how the ayah and Gussie were faring. She crossed the passage and looked in on them. The ayah was stretched on the berth. Her wrist, on which she wore a number of silver bangles, lay across her forehead. From this shelter her languid dark eyes looked up at Adeline.

      Adeline was fluent in the dialect used by the ayah. She asked: —

      “Are