brave, grown old a goat;
Hans with his soul behind a steward’s coat
mixing oblivion in a cocktail-shaker;
Vicente with a purse around his heart;
Synolda, shop-soiled by exchange and mart;
Four negroes, children who would not grow old
till civilisation gave them guns and gold;
Basil, a scarecrow, dressed in the ragged tatters
of love and genius—and of all that matters
.
Such lives are jangled mockeries of my craft,
poems so out of tune they will not scan.
My last gift to you then—your epitaph;
‘the improper image of mankind is man
’.
Luvia came towards him some time afterward. ‘You were saying this morning that you’d done some yacht sailing, Mr. Sutherland—isn’t that so?’
Basil nodded.
‘Good. Then you’ll take the tiller for the next hour. The men passengers must break even with the crew. The Colonel’s coming forward to do a spell at look-out and Mr. Vedras will take over from him later.’
‘The old man will be fried like a fritter up there in the bow,’ Basil grinned.
‘Not he,’ Luvia smiled back. ‘He’ll have gotten the hide of an elephant after all those years in Burma.’
Basil stood up and went off to take over the tiller from Jansen. Having surrendered it, the carpenter accompanied the Colonel forward to his post.
Just as the change-overs were being effected Synolda popped her head out of the low tent where she and Unity were sheltering. Vicente seized the opportunity to produce a pack of cards from his pocket.
‘You’re very bored, eh?’ he smiled. ‘Let me tell your fortunes. Vicente is very good fortune-teller with ‘is cards.’
Synolda spoke to Unity, and then turned back to him. ‘All right. You’d better come in here out of the sun. If we squeeze up we can just make room for you.’
‘
Gracia, gracia
,’ he accepted the invitation instantly, and eagerly scrambled in beside them.
He told Synolda’s fortune first and muttered a lot over it rather unhappily. The King of Spades, which obviously represented himself, was constantly in her vicinity, but the King of Diamonds persistently came between them. It appears that she had just escaped from a grave danger and others threatened her. However, she had all the ‘luck’ cards, and so he was able to promise her health, wealth, and a happy marriage.
Unity’s cards troubled him much more; not from his own point of view, as he had no personal interest in her, but from hers. He told her of an unhappy love affair in the recent past and spoke of a Club man in her future; but he stuttered, became tongue-tied and so obviously agitated, that both the girls insisted on his telling them what else he could see. At last, unwillingly, he confessed it. ‘Death comes up next to you again and again.’
Meanwhile, only a couple of feet further forward, Basil was at the artificially lengthened tiller, with Luvia beside him. Ever since his talk with Hansie in the early morning he had been watching for a chance to get the Finn for a few moments on his own; at last luck had favoured him.
In a low voice he gave a detailed account of Hansie’s disquieting information about Harlem Joe.
Luvia heard him out and sat silent for a little. ‘So the man’s a killer, eh!’ he said slowly. ‘Doesn’t exactly add to the gaiety of nations having a guy like that along—does it?’
Basil had little time for large, blond, hearty men in the ordinary way, but he looked at the strong-featured Finn now with considerable sympathy. He had been so immersed in his own personal misery that he had not given a thought before to what Luvia must be feeling. The situation was bad enough for any of them individually, but the young engineer had in addition the responsibility of keeping discipline, navigating the boat, and looking after them all; a responsibility which seemed almost certain to bring hideously increased anxieties the further one looked into the desperately uncertain future. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Harlem as far as I can,’ he
Hans with his soul behind a steward’s coat
mixing oblivion in a cocktail-shaker;
Vicente with a purse around his heart;
Synolda, shop-soiled by exchange and mart;
Four negroes, children who would not grow old
till civilisation gave them guns and gold;
Basil, a scarecrow, dressed in the ragged tatters
of love and genius—and of all that matters
.
Such lives are jangled mockeries of my craft,
poems so out of tune they will not scan.
My last gift to you then—your epitaph;
‘the improper image of mankind is man
’.
Luvia came towards him some time afterward. ‘You were saying this morning that you’d done some yacht sailing, Mr. Sutherland—isn’t that so?’
Basil nodded.
‘Good. Then you’ll take the tiller for the next hour. The men passengers must break even with the crew. The Colonel’s coming forward to do a spell at look-out and Mr. Vedras will take over from him later.’
‘The old man will be fried like a fritter up there in the bow,’ Basil grinned.
‘Not he,’ Luvia smiled back. ‘He’ll have gotten the hide of an elephant after all those years in Burma.’
Basil stood up and went off to take over the tiller from Jansen. Having surrendered it, the carpenter accompanied the Colonel forward to his post.
Just as the change-overs were being effected Synolda popped her head out of the low tent where she and Unity were sheltering. Vicente seized the opportunity to produce a pack of cards from his pocket.
‘You’re very bored, eh?’ he smiled. ‘Let me tell your fortunes. Vicente is very good fortune-teller with ‘is cards.’
Synolda spoke to Unity, and then turned back to him. ‘All right. You’d better come in here out of the sun. If we squeeze up we can just make room for you.’
‘
Gracia, gracia
,’ he accepted the invitation instantly, and eagerly scrambled in beside them.
He told Synolda’s fortune first and muttered a lot over it rather unhappily. The King of Spades, which obviously represented himself, was constantly in her vicinity, but the King of Diamonds persistently came between them. It appears that she had just escaped from a grave danger and others threatened her. However, she had all the ‘luck’ cards, and so he was able to promise her health, wealth, and a happy marriage.
Unity’s cards troubled him much more; not from his own point of view, as he had no personal interest in her, but from hers. He told her of an unhappy love affair in the recent past and spoke of a Club man in her future; but he stuttered, became tongue-tied and so obviously agitated, that both the girls insisted on his telling them what else he could see. At last, unwillingly, he confessed it. ‘Death comes up next to you again and again.’
Meanwhile, only a couple of feet further forward, Basil was at the artificially lengthened tiller, with Luvia beside him. Ever since his talk with Hansie in the early morning he had been watching for a chance to get the Finn for a few moments on his own; at last luck had favoured him.
In a low voice he gave a detailed account of Hansie’s disquieting information about Harlem Joe.
Luvia heard him out and sat silent for a little. ‘So the man’s a killer, eh!’ he said slowly. ‘Doesn’t exactly add to the gaiety of nations having a guy like that along—does it?’
Basil had little time for large, blond, hearty men in the ordinary way, but he looked at the strong-featured Finn now with considerable sympathy. He had been so immersed in his own personal misery that he had not given a thought before to what Luvia must be feeling. The situation was bad enough for any of them individually, but the young engineer had in addition the responsibility of keeping discipline, navigating the boat, and looking after them all; a responsibility which seemed almost certain to bring hideously increased anxieties the further one looked into the desperately uncertain future. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Harlem as far as I can,’ he
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