IV
REPAIRS
GALWAY BAY lay blue and tranquil, church bells were ringing as the bark, at a melancholy angle, moved slowly into the port. Then, for the first time in ten days, the pound of the pumps ceased. The eardrums of those on board were freed to take in the sound of the bells and the singing of birds.
Adeline stood in the bow facing the light breeze that carried warm scents of the land. Her nostrils quivered and she gave a little laugh. Mr. Wilmott came up just in time to hear it.
“You are fortunate to be able to laugh, Mrs. Whiteoak,” he said. “To me this is a most depressing return.”
She looked at him over her shoulder, her white teeth gleaming between her parted lips.
“Why,” she exclaimed, “aren’t you glad to smell the land again — and hear the bells?”
“Not the Old Land,” he answered bitterly. “Not these bells. I never expected to be here again. I want the New World.”
“Well, you’ll get it, if only you have patience. You might be at the bottom of the sea. I’m thankful to be alive!”
“You are different. You are young and full of hope.”
“But you aren’t old! And you have told me of interesting plans you have. This is just a mood. It will pass.”
He smiled too. “Of course it will. I certainly cannot feel downcast when I am near you.”
The ayah stood near by with the baby in her harms, her pale-coloured robe fluttering about her emaciated figure. It was the first time she had been on deck since her bout of seasickness and she looked scarcely able to stand, let alone carry the child. But her heavy-lidded eyes shone with joy at the sight of the green land and little Augusta held out her hands toward the gulls that came circling about the ship.
Philip strode down the deck.
“I have the luggage ready!” he exclaimed. “I’m not leaving any of our valuables on board.”
“The Captain says they will be safe.”
“Humph! Anyhow, we shall need our things. This leak isn’t to be mended in a jiffy.”
“Have you seen my brothers?” she asked. “Have they got their things together?”
“Here is Sholto to answer for himself.” Philip eyed the boy sternly. He was laden with his belongings, gathered together in a promiscuous fashion. His pale face was alight with exhilaration.
“I can scarcely wait,” he exclaimed in an exaggerated brogue, “to plant me feet on the ould sod! Praise be to God, I shall sleep in a dacent bed and put me teeth in some dacent food before long!”
As he advanced he let fall one article after another on the deck but he appeared unconscious of this.
“Where is Conway?” demanded Adeline.
“I can’t make him stir. He’s still in bed. Mary Cameron is with him.”
“Merciful heavens!” cried Adeline.
Philip threw them both a warning look. Mr. Wilmott considerately moved away, out of hearing.
“She is packing his things for him,” went on Sholto. “He says he is too tired and the silly girl believes him! She believes whatever he says and does everything he tells her.”
“I shall attend to him,” said Adeline.
With her eager step she went swiftly along the slanting deck. She hastened down the companionway and through the narrow passage where most of the cabins were separated from public view by only a curtain. The smell of this passage she felt she never would forget. All the smells of the ship below deck seemed concentrated here — the smell of stale cooking, the smell rising from the livestock, the smell of the lavatory! What discomfort she had endured! The sweet land breeze made it suddenly almost tangible — discomfort and fear.
She stood outside Conway’s door listening but there was so much noise of movement and shouting she could hear nothing. She opened the door.
Conway lay stretched on the berth, a happy smile on his face, his pale hair falling about his cheeks. His long greenish eyes followed every movement of Mary Cameron who was bent over a portmanteau carefully packing his toilet articles, under his direction.
“Well, this is a pretty sight!” cried Adeline. “Oh, you lazy pig, Con! Get up out of that and do your own work! Mary, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why aren’t you helping your mother?”
Mary raised a flushed face. She said, with a touch of defiance: —
“Everything is done for my mother. She is resting till we disembark.”
“Then go and sit by her. Don’t you know better than to be alone with a young man in his cabin? Have you travelled halfway round the world and learnt nothing?”
“My mamma has told me,” answered Mary, “to be afraid of Indians and to be afraid of Chinamen and Frenchmen but she has not told me to be afraid of Irishmen.”
Adeline found it hard not to laugh but she said sternly — “Then she did wrong, for they are the worst of all. Now, run off. If Con needs help I’ll give it to him.” She pushed Mary out of the room.
She came to her brother and took him by the ear. She bent down and put her face close to his.
“Con,” she said, “have you ever laid a bad hand on that girl?”
With the shamelessness of a child he distorted his face against the pain of his ear.
“Let me be!” he said. “I shan’t tell you.”
“You will or I’ll tell Philip to question you. You’ll not like that.”
He twisted his head so he could kiss her forearm.
“Sweet Sis,” he said.
“Answer me, Con!”
“I swear I’ve said nothing to Mary you might not have heard — or her mother.”
She let him go. “Thank God for that! Now, get up and pack your bags.”
But she was soft enough to help him. The beautiful harbor lay spread before them; the grey stone town rising beyond it, and beyond that the dark mountains of Clare. An ancient feudal castle stood on one of the hills. The townsfolk were gathering to see the ship for it was rarely that one of her size entered the harbor.
Now there came all the confusion of disembarking — they who had thought not to leave the ship till they landed at Quebec! Off they came, carrying their belongings, looking paler than when they had set out, some excited, some forlorn, a few in tears. The poor livestock were led or harried off — some so weak in the leg they could hardly walk. They were dirty, they were dazed, though the poultry bore the adventure best. Maggie, the little goat which had been sent for Augusta’s nourishment, was the one exception. She seemed not to have suffered at all from the experience but trotted off on her little hoofs, her bell tinkling. One of the sailors had taken a fancy to her and had combed her long silvery hair. As she was led from the pier she saw a small patch of green and hastened to tear off a mouthful and munch it.
Boney, too, had borne the voyage well. The rolling of the ship had been a pleasure to him. To hang head downward was one of his diversions. He left the ship, sitting on Adeline’s shoulder. His beak was parted in what looked like a smile of triumph. His dark tongue was a wonder to the crowd who soon collected about her.
“You had better have carried him in his cage,” said Philip.
“Indeed I had,” she agreed, “and I’d put him in it now but it’s far behind with the stewardess, and it’s a heavy thing to carry.”
The truth was she