Master Georgie Part 4

I mention all this because the ancient man now lying alongside me under the Judas tree was none other than Gustav Streicher, the director of the Archaeological Collection at Kertch, whom I had known twenty years before. After a.s.surances that no bones had been broken, there followed one of those conversations peculiar to encounters between comparative youth - my hearing was certainly superior - and extreme old age. I wasn't even sure he knew who I was, though he appeared to remember the marble head of Apollo whose tinge of rouge on the cheeks I had once so admired, also the sarcophagus with its two gigantic figures astride its lid, their heads knocked off by marauding Turks. I told him I recalled his inspiring lecture on the latter subject.

'Barbarians,' he muttered. 'Barbarians to a man.'

'And are you still at Kertch?' I asked, to which he replied he held a courtesy post, with pension.

'You prefer to live there...rather than England?'

'What is England?' he retorted. 'Where is England?' I took this as rhetorical and stayed silent. I noticed his eyes had closed and hoped he slept rather than swooned from the effects of his tumble. Just as I was about to enquire whether he was all right, he cried out with great vigour, 'It is sheer nonsense to transfer the wanderings of Ulysses to the Black Sea. He would surely have mentioned the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus if his travels had taken place to the west of the theatre of the Trojan War rather than the Pontus Euxinus to the north.'

'Yes, indeed,' I said, and added, 'I'm here on a modern journey. I intend to be an observer.'

'Of what?' he queried.

'Why, the war,' I said.

'What war?'

'The present one,' I replied, disconcerted by the question.

'I know of no war,' he declared. Troy has been sacked.'

We were interrupted by Beatrice, who rushed up with the news that George was about to take part in the long jump, an event open to all-comers.

I helped the old man to his feet and shook him by the hand. 'I remember you with fondness,' I said, though it wasn't altogether the truth. I had not forgotten the mortifying occasion, after another of his lectures, when, questions having been invited from the floor, he had called me an a.s.s and told me to sit down.

'Hurry,' Beatrice urged.

'I hope we will meet again,' I said, shaking him by the hand.

'I trust not, Mr Lyell,' he replied, which at least showed a flattering remembrance of my geological pursuits, however wide of the mark. 'My regards to your daughter.'

'Did he mean me?' Beatrice demanded to know.

'Who else?' I said, at which she glowed.

George didn't do spectacularly well in his compet.i.tion. His brother Freddie, alas dead from inflammation of the brain, had been the sportsman of the family. All the same, when he sped across the ground and launched himself into the air, the sun transforming his leaping head into a helmet of gold, we roared ourselves hoa.r.s.e.

An hour later, as Beatrice was chivvying us to leave, George insisted we must pose for a photograph. He had seen a man with a camera standing before a dark tent near one of the fountains. So we lined up, some of us rearranging ourselves in the small hope of minimising physical defects, Beatrice, under the guise of appearing reflective, propping her chin on her finger, Annie slipping off her shoes so as to come down in height. As for myself, I took up the elder child, careful to let its petticoats dangle upon my belly, at which it howled and George ordered me to give it to its mother, who was already clutching the younger infant to her breast. Behind us, a tug-of-war progressed, officers versus men, the pig-grunts of the partic.i.p.ants punctuating the struggle.

We stood there a long time, motionless as statues, except for the children. 'Be still, my sweet babes,' Myrtle murmured, as they leapt like fish in her arms.

Our visit to the opera took place at a late hour, long after we had eaten dinner. The theatre was in Pera, in the European quarter of the town, next door to a grog-shop bursting with soldiers. There was such a caterwauling issuing from within, one might have thought they were performing an opera of their own.

I was cross with Beatrice for making me put on my best clothes, the interior of the theatre being nothing short of filthy. Fortunately, we had a box and were somewhat elevated from the squalor. Even so, though I kept it from Beatrice, I brushed two c.o.c.kroaches from her seat before she sat down. The stench both from below and from the establishment next door, a mixture of frying onions, beer and something sweetly rotten, was unbearable and kept us constantly flapping our handkerchiefs before our noses. Along the edge of the stage, perilously close to the tattered velvet curtains, stood a line of burning oil lamps, some with missing cowls. I took the precaution of examining the narrow pa.s.sageway behind our chairs, and threw into the street several articles of broken furniture, which, in the event of fire, would surely have hindered our escape.

Myrtle sat as though in a trance, oblivious to her surroundings. Tomorrow the children would leave for England, and her heart had hardened to ice at the prospect. Then, some moments before the interval, I heard a strange mewing sound, which instantly brought back memories of Mrs O'Gorman's kitchen and the cry of the stable cat prowling the bucket in which its kittens lay drowned. Startled, I glanced at Myrtle, and saw her cheeks were wet.

It was the music, according to George, that had thawed her, though how such a modern composer as Verdi, all discords and jangles, had the power to move anyone to tears, unless from sheer irritation, was beyond my comprehension. Beatrice put a consoling arm round her, and Annie, who found it difficult to show sympathy, from embarras's-ment rather than feeling, ferreted out her smelling salts.

It was only after the curtain had fallen that I noticed Naughton in the box opposite, seated alongside his crony the engineer and Mrs Yardley and her colonel in the Guards. Naughton was staring to the left of our group, an expression of rage tormenting his features. Following the direction of his infuriated gaze, I leaned out to spy on the adjacent box. It housed an adolescent female, of dusky complexion, clasped in the pa.s.sionate embrace of a young man brilliantly attired in the uniform of Lord Cardigan's llth Hussars.

Some minutes later I saw Naughton making his way across the front of the auditorium. Arriving beneath our dusty cubicle, he looked up, first at Myrtle, who was in the act of dabbing at her eyes, then to her left. If such a thing is possible, I swear his lip curled. Then he walked purposefully towards the doors at the back of the theatre. Meanwhile, Mrs Yardley was energetically signalling to me, waving her programme and generally making a show of herself. As for the engineer, he was standing up, shoulders hunched like a prize-fighter, punching the air with his fists. I reckoned the pair of them were drunk and said as much to George, but when I succeeded in bringing his attention to the box opposite, the engineer had disappeared.

Tt's extraordinary how foreign parts bring out the worst in people,' I remarked to Beatrice, who told me to shush as the orchestra were again filing into the pit.

The second half had just commenced, chorus gloomily wailing, when I heard footsteps thudding along the pa.s.sageway behind. Then came a crash and a mumble of unintelligible words; my chair shook as something heavy bounced against our part.i.tion. Every eye in the house now turned in our direction, including those of the singers on stage. A voice - later identified as that of the engineer -distinctly shouted, 'Don't be a b- fool.' Craning forwards, I was flabbergasted to see Naughton, on his back, bent over the edge of the box next door at such an angle that his head dangled above the orchestra pit. He was leant over by the hussar, who had his hands round Naughton's throat. A good proportion of the audience, shamefully yelling encouragement, jumped to its feet.

There followed a most dramatic incident, far exceeding in authenticity and excitement anything we had yet seen on stage. Naughton, scrabbling desperately at his a.s.sailant's breast, managed to hook his fingers through the golden frogging of that splendid coat. The hussar, no doubt appalled at the thought of such defacement, loosened his hold and attempted to prise himself free, at which Naughton, levering himself upright and twisting sideways, jerked him off balance, sending him toppling across the edge of the box. Teetering, the hussar raised one hand, and tracing what appeared to be the sign of the cross, dropped to the boards below. For the first time I grasped the purpose of music, my emotions being considerably heightened by the continued playing of the orchestra - the unfortunate fellow landed to the accompaniment of percussion.

George hurried downstairs and, pushing aside the agitated crowd, did what he could for the fallen man. The rest of us stayed put, not wishing to add to the crush. There was a tremendous hubbub coming from the pa.s.sageway; pepping out I was astonished to see Naughton being dragged off by half a dozen burly Turks. The engineer, much distressed, burst in among us and declared he himself was partly to blame. 'I should have stopped him earlier,' he shouted. 'By G.o.d, I could see which way the wind was blowing.'

Taking him out into the pa.s.sage I asked him to explain what had happened. What was the quarrel about? Why had Naughton been attacked in such a brutal manner?

'It was Naughton who did the attacking,' cried the distraught engineer. 'He just dashed into the box and slapped the hussar across the face.'

'But for what reason?' I demanded, though I had a sudden and horrid suspicion I already knew.

'Why, on account of Miss Hardy...for treating her so badly. There he sat, not ten paces away, his arm round that low woman...and Miss Hardy in tears at the affront.'

'I advise you to go back to the hotel,' I said. 'In the morning...when you're calmer...we can call on the English consul.'

'I should have prevented him,' the engineer moaned, and ran off down the pa.s.sage.

The affair ended better than one had feared. The captain, though bruised and having had all the breath knocked from his body, broke neither neck nor back. Suffering from nothing worse than a sprained ankle, he was helped to his barracks by comrades summoned from the grog-shop nearby.

George and I kept silent on the ride home. Both of us had reason to feel ashamed. I couldn't help thinking of the duck-boy, Pompey Jones, and how I had upbraided him over the childish nonsense of the tiger-skin rug.

Cause and effect, I thought. One should never underestimate the disruptive force of haphazard actions.

I rented the top half of a house at Scutari. George, who, until we joined him, had been sleeping at the hospital, was delighted at the move. Our windows overlooked the sea of Marmora and he was within walking distance, through the yard of a mosque, of the Great Barrack. Beyond what was absolutely essential, we had little in the way of furniture and Myrtle insisted it stayed that way. I was all for rushing off to procure sideboards and pictures and the like, but she said we weren't at home and it was no good pretending life was as it had always been. As it happened, we weren't destined to stay there very long.

A most remarkable change took place in Myrtle - in her appearance, that is. While George and I visibly lost weight, owing to heat and a restricted diet, etc., she appeared to gain some; her cheeks filled out and her throat and arms became rounded. Her face, once pale, turned golden in the sun and as she refused to cover her head, her hair leapt with threads of fiery colour. Result - it was as though Myrtle, previously lurking in mist, had now emerged into the light. I doubt if George noticed the difference, he being so preoccupied with other matters, but I did feel it was just as well poor, deluded Naughton was no longer on the scene. If he had been smitten before, this new, glowing Myrtle might well have sent him into madness. Naughton, after a hefty sum had been raised to sweeten the Turkish authorities - I myself, or rather George, having contributed generously to the fund -had been shipped off home. I accompanied him to the boat, where, before boarding and too distressed to speak, he clung to my hand like a drowning man. I'd adjusted my expression accordingly, though I reckon shame still swam in my eyes.

In June, George was summoned to Constantinople to appear before the Army Medical Staff. He was informed that henceforth he would be attached, in the capacity of a.s.sistant Surgeon, to the 2nd division, presently to be quartered at Varna. He advised me not to tell Myrtle the reason for his appointment - no fewer than three doctors had successively held the post before him, and all had succ.u.mbed to cholera.

I expressed alarm, but he a.s.sured me that the danger of infection was as great here as there. For weeks, hundreds of the sick had been arriving at Scutari. The disease had taken such a hold that the dying lay in mouldering rows along the endless corridors of the Barrack Hospital. So much death and still a shot not fired!

I'm not a brave man and I must admit it did cross my mind that I might return to Constantinople and thence home. I suspect I would have done so, had it not been for Myrtle. Nothing on earth would have persuaded her to leave George, and if a mere woman was willing to stand her ground, how could I possibly turn tail?

We sailed a week later, in twilight, past the picturesque houses of the grand pashas; past the tomb of Barbarossa, conqueror of Algiers; past the darkening gardens amid the cypress trees, the keel of our ship trailing a dancing path of phosphorus light along the waters of the Bosphorus. In our wake flew a swarm of small birds, no bigger than robins, which are never seen to settle, but must always be in flight. The Turks, so I was told, suppose them to be the souls of women whom the Sultan has drowned.

Our journey took two days; on the morning of the second, while we were at table, a young officer in the Dragoons, in the middle of telling the company how he regretted leaving his tennis racquet at home, suddenly slumped over his plate. George, on propping him upright - he had attended him the night before on account of stomach pains - p.r.o.nounced him dead. For a short while the dragoon sat there, mouth open. We too continued to sit, as though unwilling to interrupt him. When at last he was carried out, Myrtle rose and tenderly shook the breadcrumbs from his hair.

To say we landed at Varna was inaccurate; we fell down rather than disembarked, the pier being rotten. We had to wade through mud to reach solid ground. One of the horses broke a leg and had to be shot where it lay. It was dragged further out into the Black Sea, where it floated beneath a canopy of flies.

The town was in a state of considerable disorder due to its swollen population. The numbers of horses, troops and supply carts struggling up from the port made the narrow streets almost impossible to negotiate. There were rats openly burrowing among the mounds of refuse outside the provision shops. Even Myrtle remarked on the filth and confusion. My dreams of finding a pretty little house to rent, with tubs of plants on the veranda and the stem of a vine climbing to the roof, flew out of the window. Every available dwelling, beside providing refuge for numerous species of the insect world, was largely given over to human vermin, namely wine merchants and horse dealers, lured from every corner of the Levant by the heady stench of war.

George went off to report to the General Hospital, leaving Myrtle and me to wend our way some miles west of the town to where the army camp was stationed, tents pitched on either side of the road and extending upwards on to the hilly ground above a large lake formed by the river Devna. Downstream spread a second, smaller lake, the area surrounded by marshland which, though pleasant enough by day, at night gave off a noxious mist. I understood from the Greek villain who guided us there that it is in the vicinity of the military burial ground in which lie the remains of six thousand Russian victims of the plague of '29. After purchasing, at exorbitant prices, tents and cooking pots, we settled ourselves some distance downhill from the smaller lake. As to drinking water, there were some excellent springs nearby.

It was only a matter of hours before I realised the extent of the dreadful pickle we were in; no sooner had night fallen than a wretched procession of men, some slung over the shoulders of comrades, stumbled past our fire and vanished into the darkness. I was told they were being marched to the river to clean themselves and were, as yet, suffering from nothing more serious than diarrhoea, although there were rumours that cholera had begun to rage through the French camp situated in the supposedly healthier region to the north-east.

George joined us a day later kitted out in what was claimed to be the uniform of an officer of the 2nd division. His garments were so faded and shrunken that it proved impossible to guess at their original colour; they had obviously been worn by the former unfortunate regimental inc.u.mbent - if not all three. Obliged, at his own expense, to purchase regulation boots, he was asked to fill out numerous doc.u.ments, only to be told that it would be weeks, possibly months, before the desired footwear arrived.

Conditions at the hospital, he informed me, were disgraceful. There were too few sappers to put the place to rights and he gathered the authorities did not or would not recognise the urgency. Attempts had been made to improve the ventilation by removing planks in the roof, but the place was miserably dirty and provided a veritable Valhalla for fleas, c.o.c.kroaches and rats. Nor were there sufficient medical supplies. On his first afternoon, he dealt with a man who, following a drunken fall from a horse, had broken his lower jaw. There being nothing else available in the way of splints he was forced to use the pasteboard covers of a book - The Wide, Wide World The Wide, Wide World - to set the injury. Until whitewashed throughout the building remained uninhabitable, and it was his firm diagnosis that a man would die there quicker than in camp. He scratched ferociously all night long and robbed me of sleep. - to set the injury. Until whitewashed throughout the building remained uninhabitable, and it was his firm diagnosis that a man would die there quicker than in camp. He scratched ferociously all night long and robbed me of sleep.

I myself cut a sorry figure following the thoughtless handing over of the clothes I stood up in, much stiffened by my romp through the mud, to a washerwoman. Result -'I spent a whole day, naked and wrapped in a grimy horse-blanket, waiting for her return. She never did, and to add to my sartorial troubles the ship that carried our trunks failed to arrive, having reportedly caught fire a mile out of Scutari. Myrtle went off and, finding a seller of second-hand clothing, kindly purchased on my behalf a clerical suit styled in a fashion last favoured by my grandfather. She also brought back a top hat, somewhat moth-eaten at the crown. I wore it, ridicule being preferable to sunstroke. She herself donned a long robe, such as worn by Turkish women, in which, almost indecently at ease, she glided about the camp.

It is curious how quickly one adapts to living in the open. Astonishing too, how used one becomes to hands black as pitch and a beard lively with grease. There is nothing more guaranteed to reduce a man to the essentials than to live beneath the sky.

I admit I didn't know who I was any more - my bearings had gone astray along with my trousers. I observed, and wrote down my impressions - by day, to the infernal buzzing of flies; by night, to the barking of dogs and the m.u.f.fled cries of those disturbed by dreams of home...and worse.

Deep down I was lost, my mind out of kilter. Often, drifting into sleep I silently recited those lines of Hesiod -They by each others' hands inglorious fell, In horrid darkness plunged, the house of h.e.l.l. I fear it was the tough mutton we consumed at sunset, rather than intellect, that dictated my thoughts.

Plate 4. August 1854

CONCERT PARTY.

AT VARNA.

This is the most beautiful spot and I cannot understand why so many fall sick. Possibly it's the abundance of fruit to be had for the picking - cherries and strawberries grow wild in the meadows beyond the tents. I have never felt more healthy in my life.

On our arrival Georgie instructed Dr Potter to buy me a pony. She's white with a black patch on her rump; if startled, a blue vein stands out on her forehead. Docile animals are very like children. When I stroke her neck, the skin soft as velvet - Georgie has never seen me ride, being always too busy, but yesterday he promised to come with me up into the hills above the lake. An hour before we were due to depart he went missing. He was in the hospital tent, of course, itemising medicines and jotting things down in a ledger. He has no a.s.sistant and complains of the amount of reports he has to submit to the office of the Inspector General. He could have said he was sad not to accompany me, but he didn't. He simply shouted over his shoulder, 'You go, Myrtle. I can't possibly get away.'

Dr Potter would have come with me if I'd let him, in spite of being an indifferent horseman and against exercise. I'm fond of him, but used to living mostly in his head he's poor company when forced outside. His frequent quotations concerning death, first spouted in a dead language and then laboriously translated, become wearisome. They're interesting as far as words go, and if we were sitting in a drawing room among fools I'd be the first to think him clever. Here, in the midst of the newly dead, his references to ancient ma.s.sacres merely irritate. I suppose he scuttles into the past to escape the awful present.

'Mrs Yardley has agreed to ride with me,' I told him. 'And besides, you're not comfortable in the heat.'

True, true,' he said, though he looked put out.

The sun being particularly fierce that morning, I begged to borrow his hat - to mollify him. Which it did. Take it, my dear girl,' he cried, tearing it from his head. I had no intention of wearing it longer than it took him to reach the shade of his tent.

Mrs Yardley and her colonel are billeted in the town, but spend their days in camp. I've grown to like her. Sometimes she swears, especially when newly bitten. She has several flea bites on her face, one on the end of her nose, yet remains good-humoured. She was on the stage, posing in operatic tableaux, and makes no secret of it, any more than she disguises the nature of her liaison with the colonel. I doubt she knows how much we have in common, although, owing to the incident with silly Mr Naughton, she has tried several times to sound me out in regard to background. As yet, I haven't taken her into my confidence, but may do so when I know her better.

We both do what we can in the way of relieving hardship and agree that the wives and followers of the ordinary soldiers, some with children howling at their skirts, are more capable of fending for themselves than the 'ladies' among us. I keep telling Master...keep telling Georgie...that it's foolish to question the common soldier as to the looseness of his bowels, the condition being quite normal among those accustomed to eating food gone bad. I reminded him of Mrs O'Gorman's tale of her sister's family in Liverpool, who, finding the carca.s.s of a long-drowned pig in the estuary mud, dragged it home and devoured it half raw. Result - as Dr Potter might say - full bellies for once.

Quite early on into our trek to the hills, Mrs Yardley began to probe; I reckon the colonel was behind it, he being acquainted with military gossip.

'Miss Hardy,' she said, 'I hear that Mr Naughton, on returning home, took to his bed. Apparently news of his exploits had run before him. He's now in financial trouble, due to neglect of his business.'

'I didn't know him very well,' I replied, 'but I'm sorry to hear it. Being without money is painful.'

'I thought you knew him in Liverpool,' she said.

'Not at all. We met on board ship...and again in Constantinople. He was kind enough to help me back to the hotel after I'd turned faint in the street.'

'On account of the heat,' she said, still probing.

'Certainly not. It was the fault of the dogs -'

'Of course,' she cried. 'Beatrice told me. You were set upon -'

'I wasn't,' I said. 'A pet belonging to my...my brother's children was torn apart in front of me.' Just the mention of my darlings brought tears to my eyes.

'How distressing,' Mrs Yardley wailed, and sounded as if she meant it.

We skirted the river and pa.s.sed a number of women washing clothes, their arms burnt brown from the sun. Close by, the Bulgarian provision men who supply the camp with meat were hacking at slaughtered sheep and flinging the b.l.o.o.d.y guts into the water. The women seemed happy enough, laughing and shouting as they rub-a-dub-dubbed. A small boy lay on his stomach, dipping a bucket. When full it was too heavy to heave out and he was forced to tip it sideways. After dashing some of the contents to his lips, he staggered off in the direction of the tents.

'I have never felt the need for children,' Mrs Yardley said. 'Which is just as well, seeing as I have never conceived.'

'Neither has Beatrice,' I confided. Though it's not for want of Dr Potter trying.' At which we both smirked, it being a risque remark and one I would never have made to a woman other than my companion.

Thinking of such intimate things filled my head with pictures - Georgie fetching me from school in Southport and my seizing of his hand on the journey home - Georgie escorting Annie to a supper party in a hotel down by the docks, myself trailing behind, the early moon above, the lanterns lit in the rigging of the ships and my breast so full of innocent joy that I bit my lip for fear I squealed aloud. Not quite innocent - 'd.a.m.nation,' shouted Mrs Yardley, slapping her hand furiously against her throat.

I advised her to cut a cross in the nip, with her fingernail. Georgie says it disperses the irritation. Insects don't bother with me. Possibly I was so infested as a child that I'm now immune.

Soon the path led directly through a wood sweet with bird-song and the drone of bees. Mrs Yardley said it reminded her of being in church, without the inconvenience of having to kneel down - It was at Mr Hardy's funeral that I was first in a church with Master...with Georgie...albeit in the opposite aisle and twelve rows behind. Lolly lent me her hat. Mrs Hardy sat between Beatrice and the gentleman who'd been shot at by Lord Cardigan. n.o.body heaved with tears save for Georgie, although I admit I watched no other shoulders but his. Mrs Hardy carried a handkerchief and never used it. Some people only weep inside, which I think wasteful - 'Why do they find me so delectable?' complained Mrs Yardley, flapping her hands as the gnats swarmed about her head.

We rode in single file and shortly pa.s.sed two young men, bare-chested in the sun-dappled shade, one sitting with his back to the trunk of a tree, the other sprawled upon the ground, arms covering his face, bright hair bunched against the brown earth. Both were lazily humming, their scarlet jackets dangling from the branches above. Hearing the soft plodding of the horses' hooves, the seated man opened his eyes and nodded respectfully; he had the rosy cheeks and snub nose of a country boy, and his lap was heaped with wild cherries.

Once out of the wood we began to climb higher. Mrs Yardley, scratching at her cheek, asked what I would rather be doing at this moment in time. From her disgruntled tone it was obvious she had suddenly thought of a million superior ways of filling the hours.

'Why, just this,' I replied. 'One should always seize the present...there is nothing else available.' I wasn't being truthful; I would have wished Georgie at my side.

Presently the path widened and we saw in the distance a little whitewashed house beside a square of vineyard. I was all for making a detour to avoid coming too close. 'There'll be dogs,' I warned. Mrs Yardley didn't appear to have heard me and trotted on regardless.

Sure enough, we had advanced but a little way when the air was shattered by a deep and awesome howl; Mrs Yardley's horse stopped dead in its tracks. An animal the size of a small calf and much emaciated appeared round the side of the house and tore towards us, followed by a smaller creature, black all over and running on three legs.

'Don't move,' I called out to Mrs Yardley, though indeed, the slither of claws on the stony path and the ferocious barking that rent the luminous day had turned her to stone in the saddle. Fortunately the horses stood firm, being no doubt used to such alarms. Some six yards away, the dogs halted, tongues lolling. I concentrated on the larger of the two, forcing myself to gaze into its hateful eyes; whining, it lay down, ears flattened to its mean and bony skull. Mrs Yardley was whimpering, but not loudly enough to provoke an a.s.sault.

After what seemed like hours a bow-legged man emerged from the vineyard and whistled off the brutes.

Approaching, he beckoned us forward. We were led past the house to a courtyard beyond, where a woman squatted in the dust pummelling a lump of dough. Fawning, the man urged us to dismount and gestured towards a rickety table. Half a dozen children, some crawling, materialised as though by magic and began to pluck at our clothes.

Mrs Yardley was trembling; a pin-p.r.i.c.k of blood stood out on her cheek.

'Forgive me,' she said. 'I should have listened to you.'