Yet as we drew nearer they didn’t lose that look, didn’t fade as clouds do into shapeless, insubstantial billows. They grew sharper, firmer, more solid by the minute, seemed to materialize out of the mists of distance just as more mundane places do. Along their golden margins the swirling flecks of white became breakers crashing up wide pale sands; I could hear them, faintly, as we passed. The shadowy grey swirls of forest at their hearts resolved into the tops of tall trees, tossing their leaves in the wind; it brought me the strong slow breath of them, and, very faintly, the tang of leaves and pine-tar, bracken and damp mould, the scents of ancient forests long cleared from the lands. About their heights soared wings, not seabirds but broad-pinioned raptors gliding and stooping, osprey, hawk and proud eagles. From small islets in our path there came mournful yipping barks, and grey shapes stirred against the rocks, lifting round heads to watch us as we passed, some undulating away in alarm. Of other life I saw few signs, though once I was sure the antlers of a stag lifted in brief black outline against the blazing blue-gold; of humanity nothing. But once, as we rounded a high grey headland, there came drifting out to me from the cresting forests the reedy rise and fall of pipes. Not a sound I’d ever cared for; but it belonged here, plaintive but exulting, like a voice given to these wild shores to sing of their lonely splendour. It sang through me, and I thrilled to it, all other marvels forgotten in that low chant; I ached to land, to throw aside all my troubles on the beach and run off, free, through the rich woodlands. Mall’s hand on my shoulder jolted me out of the trance. ‘Best not to listen too close, good sir,’ she observed quietly, ‘when there is no man playing.’
‘No man?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘That isn’t the wind I hear.’
‘Did I say it was so? But there are no men on that sweet isle. Much music, but no men.’
The beach beyond came into view. Just above the sealine a tall black rock loomed unnaturally upright against the bright sands; its flanks, glistening like flaked glass, were shaped, roughly but unmistakeably. Overhead the yards and rigging creaked, and the scoured planking beneath my feet tilted to a different angle; the set of the sails was changing. Orders were shouted, and men ran to the braces. I looked around; Jyp had the helm now, and he was taking us further from the shore.
‘As wise a pilot as ever,’ Mall commented. ‘There’s more ways than one to run upon a rock, hereabouts.’ With a friendly clap on my shoulder she went back up to the quarterdeck to join him. Absently I rubbed the bruise and listened to a sailor singing to that eerie tune as it dwindled away astern.
‘Belay that, you tarrarag!’ growled Pierce; but the singer had already stopped. A flock of grey crows fluttered up from the hills, squawking derisively; and that was the last we heard.
The shores held my eyes still, but the cloudy isles sank away on either side, further and further, receding into misty distance once more. It took me a while to notice the little sailor at my side again. ‘Cap’n’s compliments, Master, and will you take wine with him and the Sailin’ Master on the quarterdeck afore dinner?’
I certainly would. After the alarms and excursions – God, was it only yesterday? – and a sleepless night I felt direly in need of a drink, preferably strong; I wondered if they shipped rum on privateers. The ‘wine’, though, turned out to be some kind of Madeira, smoky and lethal and served by the little old seacook in half-pint pewter beakers. By my second I was feeling no pain at all, and confident enough to copy Jyp and the captain, resting their feet on the rail and tilting their chairs with the light skipping motion of the ship, while Mall leaned on the great wheel. Something was bothering me, though, and as we got up to go below I realized what it was.
‘The sun! It’s almost set! But damn it, we set sail at dawn! And that was no more than two hours back! And dinner?’
Pierce let out a great guffaw, his jowls crinkling and bobbing, while an answering chuckle ran around the deck below; Jyp struggled to control his face, and failed. Only Mall did not even smile, but regarded me gravely from the helmsman’s bench.
‘Oh, go ahead, laugh,’ I said resignedly. ‘Don’t mind the new boy around here.’
‘Sorry, Steve,’ grinned Jyp. ‘I mind it hit me just that way the first time, and I was forewarned. East of the sun, west of the moon, remember, there’s our road. So naturally it’s setting behind us now, and we lose a day. No worry; we’ll soon pick it up on our way home. Now let’s eat.’
About the food I was a bit apprehensive, dimly remembering tales of weevil-ridden biscuit and salt pork, rock-hard and mouldy. I should have known better. The little saloon was brightly lit with swinging brass lanterns; the furniture was Queen Anne or something of the sort – I wouldn’t have dared call it antique, not here – and laid with bright silver. Captain Pierce was evidently in a profitable line; at any rate he lived big. Five courses, with wines, and the entrée was several in itself, stews and sliced meat mostly, and little roasted game-birds, one each. All the three-star restaurants in town would have killed to get hold of them. I was a bit disconcerted to be told they were golden plovers, which sounded rare. But they did things differently here, and nothing was going to bring those birds back; I tucked in. On boats my stomach was always a bit unsure at first, but not here. The motion might be the same, but evidently it just didn’t believe we were at sea.
After dinner there was coffee and brandy; Jyp lit a cigar, and the captain an enormous pipe, filled, I guessed, with the same blend of sulphur and nettles as his snuff. I managed to survive the result in that confined space for an hour or so, while the two of them vied with each other in what I sincerely hoped were enormous lies about past encounters with Wolves and other perils of the sea. I hardly dared disbelieve anything now, even Jyp’s tale about what he had caught with an oxhead as bait. At last I was driven to make my excuses and retire, wheezing, to bed. Or cot, rather. The captain had offered me, as ‘owner’, the use of his cabin, but I’d thought it tactful to refuse. Instead I had one of the two little cubbyholes, as they called them, adjoining the saloon doors. Jyp, as sailing master, had the one on the port side. A little over six feet square, mine held only a rickety chair, a hinged wall-table and an ominously coffin-like box slung by ropes from the beams above. This was my bed, it was two inches too short for me, and I hadn’t the knack of sleeping coiled up yet. Besides, all my instincts screamed at me that it was about nine in the morning, high time I was at work. The air was stuffy, and somehow it smelt too much of dinner; the single cloudy porthole that gave onto the deck I couldn’t open. The drink buzzing around in my head didn’t help. After a suffocating hour or two I gave up, dressed and mooched out on deck again, taking the brandy bottle Pierce had given me for a nightcap.