Not Yet Drown'd Page 24

  Mr Todd emitted a snort.

  Dr Macpherson bowed stiffly in his direction, and continued. “Mr Todd is amused, I daresay, at hearing such old-fashioned principles avowed. It is not fashionable, I am only too aware. Nevertheless it is a private matter of—of righteousness, if you like. So I must insist upon being excused.” With this, the doctor rose from the table and walked out of the cabin.

  “‘Unholy travesty’ and ‘pagan rites’!” sneered Mr Todd as he refilled his wine glass, spilling a little. He rearranged himself in his chair and, as the ladies had gone, he tugged indelicately where his fashionably cut trousers gave him no ease. “That is just the illiberal sort of conduct that gives Scotsmen in general a bad name in the world,” he declared, then drained his glass and refilled it once more. “A man who will begrudge the crew a guinea’s worth of rum, and pretend it is out of concern for their health! Yet he does not deny himself any of the captain’s good wine, you will surely have observed. And then, fearful of rough handling of his righteous self, to pretend that he cannot submit to it as a matter of moral principle! Oh, we have got a precious soul aboard, I fear—a saint! Let us hope that the Almighty waits to gather him to his bosom until we have all got shafely asore. Safely ashore,” he corrected himself carefully.

  “Perhaps he has not got a guinea to spare thus,” suggested Hector.

  “A man ought not to embark upon a voyage without a few quid to spare for King Neptune, and such other incidental expenses as fall upon gentlemen, or those who expect to pass for gentlemen,” said Mr Todd. “He ought to have figured it into the cost of his passage.”

  “Oh, but he has his passage in exchange for serving as the ship’s doctor during the voyage,” replied Hector. “I daresay he has in all truth not got sixpence to spare.”

  “Suppose another man were to pay the forfeit in his name,” proposed Mr Sinclair.

  “Might he not be extremely offended?” said Hector.

  “Perhaps it could be done privately, without his knowledge.”

  “A man who cannot afford a drink for the men must not suppose he can afford pride,” Mr Todd drawled.

  “Oh, Mr Todd, sir!” said Mr Sinclair. “Who among us can relinquish pride?”

  It was about noon the next day when Increase was hailed by a royal personage or, more correctly, by a deity. Alerted by a hint from Mr Fleming, Catherine and Grace had been whiling away the warm morning on the main deck, and were well positioned to see it all.

  “Ship ahoy!” cried the foretop watch. Then, as soon as the captain’s permission had been sought and secured, a dripping wet grinning red face suddenly appeared at the rail. King Neptune himself clambered up from beneath the forechains and swung himself nimbly over the head-rail. He strode to the center of the foredeck, where he struck a noble pose, as regal and dignified as though the water were not running off him in rivulets, a puddle rapidly spreading around his bare feet. Within two minutes all his court had swarmed aboard too, through the gun-ports and over the hammocks: a score of hearty mer-men, all equally dripping, grinning, and most outlandishly costumed and painted.

  Among them they bore several buckets of grease and tar. King Neptune himself wore royal robes of heavy wet canvas garlanded in seaweed, and he brandished a sceptre (which bore a remarkable resemblance to a flattened iron hoop from a barrel). Above his long, sopping beard, made apparently of frayed hemp and oakum, could be discerned the features of one of the foredeck hands, a man who had had some playacting experience before his impressment, and who would sometimes amuse his watchmates by reciting Falstaff. One of his attendants played a flourish upon a pennywhistle; then the god of the seas cried in an impressive voice, “What ship is this, who is her captain, what is her nationality, and where is she bound?”

  “This is the merchant ship Increase, under the command of Captain Mainwaring, of Antwerp in Flanders, and bound to Calcutta, may it please Your Oceanic Majesty,” replied the officer of the watch, making a deep and solemn bow.

  “Oh, Captain Mainwaring, is it? An old, old friend of mine, always welcome in my domains,” cried King Neptune. “I would go ten degrees out of my way for the pleasure of his company. Be so good as to take me to him.” Blithely mounting a gun carriage, the deity royale was drawn aft by his attendants to the quarterdeck, where Captain Mainwaring presided.

  Captain Mainwaring bowed like a courtier and delivered an address of welcome, which Catherine did not attend to very closely, as it went on for a long time: “Most Honoured Sovereign, it is with sincere pleasure that I once again welcome you aboard this good ship Increase…. Your benevolent tolerance of our passage…the beneficent currents of your realm that bear us on our course…” He finished at last with a flourish: “And now you will wish no doubt to exact your rightful tribute from those who are for the first time trespassing on your domains. Allow me then to transfer command of the ship to your majesty for the duration of the ceremony.”

  With rowdy shouts of joy, then, the god’s suite undertook to turn upright on the main deck the smallest of Increase’s boats. The fire engine was deployed to fill it with seawater; and the light tackle was rigged above it. So quick, efficient, and enthusiastic were the courtiers that this was the work of two minutes. Brandishing his sceptre, King Neptune and a half dozen of his attendants then climbed into the little boat full of seawater, and the burliest of the courtiers were instructed to bring one by one anyone who had not yet paid his tribute.

  Among the crew were perhaps a dozen men and boys who had never before crossed the line. One by one these were seized upon, their faces smeared as for shaving with the slippery mixture of grease and tar, and then, seated upon a sling descending from the tackle, they were lowered with shouts and cries into the boat, where King Neptune and his attendants shaved them, not too gently, with the bent barrel stave sceptre. Then after a couple of duckings to get them good and clean, they were set staggering on their feet again to enjoy the spectacle of those who came after them undergoing the same treatment, or even to help administer it. Some of the initiates resisted valiantly, submitting only by compulsion; others reveled in the spirit of the occasion and begged to be ducked over and over again, calling for soap and sponge; but all underwent their ordeal in good heart.

  Two of the midshipmen, mere boys of twelve or thirteen, had certainly never yet encountered a razor at close range. The smaller of the boys was seized upon first, and his downy chin was slathered with tar and grease, at which he squealed most unmanly until a seaman stopped his mouth with the mixture. Catherine felt Grace shrink close against her side. Spitting, the boy was mounted on the sling and lowered briskly into the boat while his mates made sure to point out to him the high honour of receiving his very first shave from so exalted a personage. The personage made sure to shave him exceedingly thoroughly, and to douse him very thoroughly, too, and bade him wash behind his ears. When at last he was heaved out of the boat to drain on the deck, he lay panting for a moment before leaping up to serve his fellow midshipman just as he himself had been served, or perhaps a little rougher—for his ears were glowing scarlet.

  After the initiation of every half dozen neophytes or so, King Neptune and his suite renewed their strength with a draught of grog. By the time all the neophytes among the crew had been duly initiated, the royal entourage was not so thorough nor so efficient in their ceremony as they had been.

  Now the attention of the watery god turned to the officers and the passengers, as was his undisputed right, for no officer or passenger, be he ever so exalted in the hierarchy of mortals, could pretend to any rank which could exempt him from the god’s jurisdiction.

  Of the ship’s officers, only Mr Griffith, the second mate, had never yet crossed the equator. Although he had made several lengthy voyages in the Mediterranean, and had crossed the Atlantic to and from the West Indies half a dozen times, never yet had he crossed the great line itself, not during his six years as midshipman nor during his two years as second mate on a merchant ship. It was a virginity he was eager to l
ose. When summoned at last into the presence of the watery god, he came promptly and made his bow with a flourish “for the pleasure at last of paying my respects, ahem, my respects and my forfeit! to your Oceanic Majesty, for whom I have always felt the deepest—ha ha! deepest! regard.” He was ready with his purse and paid the tribute demanded with good grace, and the initiates—now including every sailor aboard—gave him a cheer of appreciation as he retired, and his contribution was entered into the accounts by the chancellor of the Exchequer.

  At last King Neptune’s heralds were sent to address the passengers. Despite the quantities of rum these envoys had consumed, their deportment was respectful. They preceded themselves with music—the pennywhistle again—and drew themselves up in a semicircle like actors turning to their audience at last. “His Oceanic Majesty sends his royal compliments to the ladies and gentlemen who have dared to enter upon his domains!” proclaimed their leader, a smallish man endowed with a surprisingly large voice. “He furthermore has authorised us, his envoys, to inquire as minutely as should be necessary as to the credentials which any of the gentlemen may carry which should constitute their claims to be his adopted sons as a consequence of having previously traversed this particular latitude of his realm.” Here his voice dropped to a more usual speaking pitch: “Always excepting Mr Fleming, who is an old hand well known to his Majesty, and of course the ladies and their maids, who being female, can’t be sons of King Neptune nor of no one else, and so are naturally exempt from the ceremony.” This gallant speech was accompanied by another deeply respectful, not to say theatrical, bow—a gesture reciprocated by gracious curtsies from Mrs Todd and Mrs MacDonald, while Grace retreated behind Catherine.

  Then, prompted by a hint from the man at his side, the chief envoy turned to the gentlemen, among whom Mr Sinclair stood foremost. “His Watery Majesty bids me inquire with all respect, sir, whether you have ever passed this latitude before.”

  Mr Sinclair readily admitted he had not.

  “And will you choose to undergo the initiation ceremony which you have seen performed, or will you prefer to pay the forfeit, which his Majesty levies in the amount of a pound, sir—about enough for a ration of grog for all hands?”

  Mr Sinclair chose to pay the forfeit, and handed it over to the sailor who acted as treasurer, the crew expressing their appreciation with a hearty cheer.

  Hector promptly offered up his forfeit as well, looking sheepish, for he was—Catherine knew—always shy and easily embarrassed and did not enjoy amateur theatricals. He was similarly rewarded by the crew’s expression of gratitude.

  Mr Todd in his turn asserted that he was already a son of Neptune, and under questioning about the dates and name of the ships and their captains, succeeded in establishing to the satisfaction of the embassy that he had indeed traversed these latitudes on a previous passage to and from Calcutta.

  “But where is the doctor? Where is Dr Macpherson?” Mr Todd then asked loudly. The doctor had been here, observing the shavings and duckings; but now he was gone.

  “Fetch him up, bring him up!” was the cry from the crew. “Harpoon him and haul him in!” And a deputation surged down the hatch to go and seek the doctor.

  “I hope he does not suppose that they will let him off without the customary emolument,” said Mr Sinclair, and he turned to Mr Fleming.

  After a few minutes the soggy deputation emerged again. They had succeeded in fetching up Dr Macpherson, but their deportment was noticeably soberer than when they had gone down. Dr Macpherson walked among them, but he stalked as stiffly as a dog surrounded by a strange pack, his spine bristling with defiance. The seamen surrounding him wore something of the same punctilious carefulness, and a hush fell as the convoy drew up in front of King Neptune, who, having tired of the water-filled boat once the shavings and duckings were over, had climbed out and reseated himself unsteadily on his throne atop the gun carriage.

  The herald looked about, considering, and decided that his safest course was to follow established protocol. “By the authority vested in me, sir, by His Oceanic Majesty, I am to inquire—ah, to inquire with all respect, doctor, whether you have ever passed this latitude heretofore.”

  “Certainly not,” said Dr Macpherson with a marked hauteur, a palpable disgust.

  “What’s that? Speak up; we cannot hear you!” cried a few voices.

  “Certainly not!” shouted Dr Macpherson, looking as black as a monsoon sky.

  “Well, then, doctor, sir, this is about the size of it,” explained the herald quietly. “You can just pay the forfeit, you know, if you do not choose to be shaved and ducked. It is just the custom, you know, doctor.”

  “No, no, indeed,” said Dr Macpherson. “You must excuse me from any participation in this charade of yours. I insist upon being excused. I decline to participate in any form.” And he turned as if to walk away; but there was a solid wall of sailors around him, and they did not make way for him to pass.

  “Come, doctor, it is only a draught of rum!” said someone.

  “What is your fee for a consultation, then, doctor?” cried another.

  “Will it be the fine, or will it be the ducking then? For one or t’other it maun be!”

  “And a man who will not ante up has chosen the ducking by default!” The sailors knew the law of Neptune well; but still no one among them was quite ready to be the first to lay hands upon the doctor. He turned about in his little open perimeter, glaring fiercely. They glared back, some of them quite as fiercely.

  Catherine glanced over to where the other passengers—her brother and Mr Sinclair, Mr Fleming, and Mr Todd—were conferring. Mr Sinclair was speaking, gesturing. Mr Fleming shook his head in a decided negative. From his quarterdeck, Captain Mainwaring observed, quite still; but he did not appear poised to intervene.

  “Will they go so far as to seize him by force, do you think?” whispered Mrs Todd to Catherine.

  “I think they might,” replied Catherine.

  “Why does not Captain Mainwaring stop them?”

  “But why will he not fall in with their custom? It is so entirely harmless,” said Catherine.

  “His dignity will not allow it, poor man,” said Mrs Todd.

  “But it is his dignity which stands in grave danger.”

  At just this moment Dr Macpherson made an ill-judged attempt to push his way between two of the slighter seamen who surrounded him. Even these small specimens were far more solid than they appeared, however, and upon the instant that their genteel hesitation about employing physical force upon the doctor’s person had been breached—by the doctor himself!—all was over. Twenty hands seized him; a cry went up, and the mob swept him along to their buckets and their boat, like a wave washing over the deck. It was a moment’s work to slather his face with tar and grease. A great deal of it found its way into his nose and eyes and onto his coat, too, because, far from submitting meekly, the doctor fought back as well as he could despite a score of restraining hands. King Neptune toppled off his gun carriage, but none of his subjects noticed. The struggling doctor was lashed to the sling and lowered into the boat with a great splash. The barrel stave which had been used for the shaving could not be found, but someone brought a ship’s scraper, and this served for a razor.

  Dr Macpherson was scraped and scrubbed, and finally hoisted out and set upon the deck to drain. For a moment he lay quite still, only panting and gasping; apparently he was not actually drowned. Then he raised himself, turning away his face, his hands to his eyes, perhaps to wipe them clear of seawater and greasy tar. His thin shoulders heaved. Was he sick, or weeping? Water still sluiced off him. Why would he not stand up like a man, and laugh or roar like a man, like other men? The moment drew itself out painfully.

  Then Hector plunged down the gangway. “Valiantly contested, good doctor!” he cried in a hearty voice, putting his arm around the man’s wet shoulders and drawing him quite forcefully to his feet. Hector had his handkerchief ready in his hand, offering to wipe the tar from th
e doctor’s eyes. “A man who will not be daunted by such odds as those is an example to us all! Let us have a cheer for our doughty doctor!”

  And the sailors, grateful for the suggestion (for they had begun to feel just a little abashed about what they had done), raised their voices in a hearty huzzah three times over. Some eloquent speaker among them cried out, “Not but what we’re glad to drink up the forfeit if that’s how any gentlemen passengers choose to pay, but ain’t we just as glad or gladder to have to do with a gentleman who is a good sport, a gentleman who is not afraid of saltwater and a razor!”

  “Hear him! Hear him!” cried a dozen voices.

  “The doctor is a good ’un!” cried someone else.

  “A true Son of Neptune forever, and a brother to us all!”

  And under the cover of this noisy appreciation, and behind the curtain of Hector’s handkerchief, the doctor succeeded in somewhat mastering himself; in standing up on his own feet; in clearing his eyes of tar and of tears (if indeed there were any). This was good enough. Then, still unable to speak or look about him, he took himself away, and down the hatchway, down to the refuge of his cabin.

  Thank you, good, dear Hector, thought Catherine when her eyes met his over the heads of the sailors.

  Dr Macpherson did not appear at dinner, where not a word was said of the day’s doings. But Catherine noticed later that Anibaddh had somehow got hold of his coat—perhaps his only coat—and was applying all her considerable energy to the task of redeeming it.