CHAPTER FIFTEEN
And so the voyage went on. Gissing was quite content to do a two-hourtrick at the wheel both morning and afternoon, and worked out some newprinciples of steering which gave him pleasure. In the first place, henoticed that the shuffle-board and quoit players, on the boat deck aft,were occasionally annoyed by cinders from the stacks, so he made ita general plan to steer so that the smoke blew at right angles to theship's course. As the wind was prevailingly west, this meant that hisgeneral trend was southerly. Whenever he saw another vessel, a mass offloating sea-weed, a porpoise, or even a sea-gull, he steered directlyfor it, and passed as close as possible, to have a good look at it. EvenMr. Pointer admitted (in the mates' mess) that he had never experiencedso eventful a voyage. To keep the quartermasters from being idle,Gissing had them knit him a rope hammock to be slung in the chart-room.He felt that this would be more nautical than a plush settee.
There was a marvellous sense of power in standing at the wheel andfeeling the great hull reply to his touch. Occasionally Captain Scottiewould emerge from his cabin, look round with a faint surprise, andcome to the bridge to see what was happening. Mr. Pointer would salutemutely, and continue to study the skyline with indignant absorption.The Captain would approach the wheel, where Gissing was deep in thought.Rubbing his hands, the Captain would say heartily, "Well, I think I'vegot it all clear now."
Gissing sighed.
"What is it?" the Captain inquired anxiously.
"I'm bothered about the subconscious. They tell us nowadays thatit's the subconscious mind that is really important. The more mentaloperations we can turn over to the subconscious realm, the happier wewill be, and the more efficient. Morality, theology, and everythingreally worth while, as I understand it, spring from the subconscious."
The Captain's look of cheer would vanish.
"Maybe there's something in that."
"If so," Gissing continued, "then perhaps consciousness is entirelyspurious. It seems to me that before we can get anywhere at all, we'vegot to draw the line between the conscious and the subconscious.What bothers me is, am I conscious of having a subconscious, or not?Sometimes I think I am, and then again I'm doubtful. But if I'm awareof my subconscious, then it isn't a genuine subconscious, and the wholething's just another delusion--"
The Captain would knit his weather-beaten brow and again retireanxiously to his quarters, after begging Gissing to be generous andcarry on a while longer. Occasionally, pacing the starboard bridge-deck,sacred to captains, Gissing would glance through the port and see themetaphysical commander bent over sheets of foolscap and thickly wreathedin pipe-smoke.
He himself had fallen into a kind of tranced felicity, in which thesequestions no longer had other than an ingenious interest. His heart wasdrowned in the engulfing blue. As they made their southing, windand weather seemed to fall astern, the sun poured with a more goldencandour. He stood at the wheel in a tranquil reverie, blithely steeringtoward some bright belly of cloud that had caught his fancy. Mr. Pointershook his head when he glanced surreptitiously at the steering recorder,a device that noted graphically every movement of the rudder with a viewto promoting economical helmsmanship. Indeed Gissing's course, as loggedon the chart, surprised even himself, so that he forbade the officerstaking their noon observations. When Mr. Pointer said something aboutisobars, the staff-captain replied serenely that he did not expect tofind any polar bears in these latitudes.
He had hoped privately for an occasional pirate, and scanned the sea-rimsharply for suspicious topsails. But the ocean, as he remarked, isnot crowded. They proceeded, day after day, in a solitary wideness ofunblemished colour. The ship, travelling always in the centre of thisinfinite disk, seemed strangely identified with his own itinerantspirit, watchful at the gist of things, alert at the point which wasnecessarily, for him, the nub of all existence. He wandered about thePomerania's sagely ordered passages and found her more and more magical.She went on and on, with some strange urgent vitality of her own.Through the fiddleys on the boat deck came a hot oily breath and thesteady drumming of her burning heart. From outer to hawse-hole, fromshaft-tunnel to crow's-nest, he explored and loved her. In the whole ofher proud, faithful, obedient fabric he divined honour and exultation.Poised upon uncertainty, she was sure. The camber of her white-scrubbeddecks, the long, clean sheer of her hull, the concave flare of herbows--what was the amazing joy and rightness of these things? And yetthe grotesque passengers regarded her only as a vehicle, to carry themsedatively to some clamouring dock. Fools! She was more lovely thananything they would ever see again! He yearned to drive her endlesslytoward that unreachable perimeter of sky.
On land there had been definite horizons, even if disappointing whenreached and examined; but here there was no horizon at all. Every hourit slid and slid over the dark orb of sea. He lost count of time. Thetremulous cradling of the Pomerania, steadily climbing the long leagues;her noble forecastle solemnly lifting against heaven, then descendingwith grave beauty into a spread of foaming beryl and snowdrift, seemedone with the rhythm of his pulse and heart. Perhaps there had been morethan mere ingenuity in his last riddle for the theological skipper.Truly the subconscious had usurped him. Here he was almost happy, for hewas almost unaware of life. It was all blue vacancy and suspension. Thesea is the great answer and consoler, for it means either nothing oreverything, and so need not tease the brain.
But the passengers, though unobservant, began to murmur; especiallythose who had wagered that the Pomerania would dock on the eighth day.The world itself, they complained, was created in seven days, and whyshould so fine a ship take longer to cross a comparatively small ocean?Urbanely, over coffee and petite fours, Gissing argued with them. Theywere well on their way, he protested; and then, as a hypothetical case,he asked why one destination was more worth visiting than another? Heeven quoted Shakespeare on this point--something about "ports and happyhavens"--and succeeded in turning the tide of conversation for a while.The mention of Shakespeare suggested to some of the ladies that itwould be pleasant, now they all knew each other so well, to put on someamateur theatricals. They compromised by playing charades in the saloon.Another evening Gissing kept them amused by fireworks, which were verylovely against the dark sky. For this purpose he used the emergencyrockets, star-shells and coloured flares, much to the distress of Dane,the quartermaster, who had charge of these supplies.
Little by little, however, the querulous protests of the passengersbegan to weary him. Also, he had been receiving terse memoranda fromthe Chief Engineer that the coal was getting low in the bunkers and thatsomething must be queer in the navigating department. This seemed veryunreasonable. The fixed gaze of Mr. Pointer, perpetually examining thehorizon as though he wanted to make sure he would recognize it if theymet again, was trying. Even Captain Scottie complained one day thatthe supply of fresh meat had given out and that the steward had beenbringing him tinned beef. Gissing determined upon resolute measures.
He had notice served that on account of possible danger from piratesthere would be a general boat drill on the following day--not merely forthe crew, but for everyone. He gave a little talk about it in the saloonafter dinner, and worked his audience up to quite a pitch of enthusiasm.This would be better than any amateur theatricals, he insisted. Everyonewas to act exactly as though in a sudden calamity. They might makeup the boat-parties on the basis of congeniality if they wished; fiveminutes would be given for reaching the stations, without panic ordisorder. They should prepare themselves as though they were actuallygoing to leave a sinking ship.
The passengers were delighted with the idea of this novel entertainment.Every soul on board--with the exception of Captain Scottie, who hadlocked himself in and refused to be disturbed--was properly advertisedof the event.
The following day, fortunately, was clear and calm. At noon Gissingblew the syren, fired a rocket from the bridge, and swung the enginetelegraph to STOP. The ship's orchestra, by his orders, struck up arollicking air. Quickly and without confusion, amid
cries of Women andchildren first! the passengers filed to their allotted places. The crewand officers were all at their stations.
Gissing knocked at Captain Scottie's cabin.
"We are taking to the boats," he said.
"Goad!" cried the skipper. "Wull it be a colleesion?"
"All's clear and the davits are outboard," said Gissing. He had beenstudying the manual of boat handling in one of the nautical volumes inthe chart-room.
"Auld Hornie!" ejaculated the skipper. "We'll no can salve the specie!Make note of her poseetion, Mr. Gissing!" He hastened to gather hispapers, the log, a chronometer, and a large canister of tobacco.
"The Deil's intil't," he said as he hastened to his boat. "I had yonpragmateesm of yours on a lee shore. Two-three hours, I'd have careenedye."
Gissing was ready with his megaphone. From the wing of the bridge hegave the orders.
"Lower away!" and the boats dropped to the passenger rail.
"Avast lowering!" Each boat took in her roster of passengers, who werein high spirits at this unusual excitement.
"Mind your painters! Lower handsomely!"
The boats took the water in orderly fashion, and were cast off.Remaining members of the crew swarmed down the falls. The bandsmen had aboat to themselves, and resumed their tune as soon as they were settled.
Gissing, left alone on the ship, waved for silence.
"Look sharp, man!" cried Captain Scottie. "Honour's satisfied! Take yourplace in the boat!"
The passengers applauded, and there was quite a clatter of camerashutters as they snapped the Pomerania looming grandly above them.
"Boats are all provisioned and equipped," shouted Gissing. "I'vebroadcasted your position by radio. The barometer's at Fixed Fair. Pulloff now, and 'ware the screw."
He moved the telegraph handle to DEAD SLOW, and the Pomerania began toslip forward gently. The boats dropped aft amid a loud miscellaneousoutcry. Mr. Pointer was already examining the horizon. Captain Scottie,awakened to the situation, was uttering the language of theology but notthe purport.
"Don't stand up in the boats," megaphoned Gissing. "You're quite allright, there's a ship on the way already. I wirelessed last night."
He slid the telegraph to slow, half, and then full. Once more the shipcreamed through the lifting purple swells. The little flock of boats wassoon out of sight.
Alone at the wheel, he realized that a great weight was off his mind.The responsibility of his position had burdened him more than he knew.Now a strange eagerness and joy possessed him. His bubbling wake cutstraight and milky across the glittering afternoon. In a ruddy sunsetglow, the sea darkened through all tints of violet, amethyst, indigo.The horizon line sharpened so clearly that he could distinguish thetossing profile of waves wetting the sky. "A red sky at night is thesailor's delight," he said to himself. He switched on the port andstarboard lights and the masthead lanterns, then lashed the wheel whilehe went below for supper. He did not know exactly where he was, for heseemed to have steamed clean off the chart; but as he conned the helmthat evening, and leaned over the lighted binnacle, he had a feelingthat he was not far from some destiny. With cheerful assurance he lashedthe wheel again, and turned in. He woke once in the night, and leapedfrom the hammock with a start. He thought he had heard a sound ofbarking.