In order to keep my worries at bay, I made sure I kept busy.
For a start, I borrowed Li Jing’s old portable typewriter—a Corona—and wrote a letter to Ana and Signor Fidardo, in which I gave an account of everything that had happened to me and the Chief since leaving Lisbon. It was a long letter. I finished off by promising to contact them again as soon as the Chief arrived back in Glasgow.
While I was clattering away on the keys of the typewriter, Li Jing was trying to get Bernie to work in the greenhouse. Bernie was reluctant at first, mainly because he was afraid of doing things wrong. But after a couple of days, he was watering the plants and cutting off the dead leaves and branches on the large palms.
Working in the greenhouse seemed to help Bernie feel calm and settled. Otherwise, for the most part, his mood was downcast and concerned. I guessed he was thinking about Moira, 428perhaps worrying about her, perhaps missing her, though that was hard to believe given how horrible she’d been to him. But what did I know? Maybe she hadn’t always been like that and, after all, she was his sister.
I helped, too, with various bits around the house, like changing the weathervane on the roof and repairing worn-out wheel bearings in Li Jing’s wheelchair. I also spent part of every day working on Simmons’s launch. Sooner or later I’d have to return it to him and, as thanks for the loan, I wanted it to be in better condition than when I took it. There is nothing more relaxing than tinkering with a steam engine—it makes time pass so quickly.
One morning, while topping up the oil in the steam engine’s lubrication points, I noticed a sailing ship tacking its way north off Dunoon on the opposite side of the firth. Not exactly an unusual sight on the Firth of Clyde, but I still ran into the house to take a closer look at the ship through the telescope. I did the same thing every time I caught sight of a sail.
This vessel was a three-masted schooner. In spite of the fresh breeze, it had all sails set, even the mizzen topsail and the flying jib. When the vessel heeled in the gusts of wind, the foaming, white bow wave reached the gunwales. My pulse 429raced. The Chief was a skilful sailor who prided himself on always carrying as much sail as the wind permitted.
The telephone rang and Li Jing answered it. At the end of the call, she turned to me and said, “That was the master pilot. The lookout station in Dunoon has just reported that a vessel called Valkyrie is approaching the mouth of the River Clyde.”
I ran back down to the landing stage. It was high tide and the launch had plenty of water under her keel. All I had to do was cast off and get moving!
Out on the firth, the Valkyrie had tacked and was beginning to beat against the wind towards the mouth of the river. I set a course due north in order to intercept her. Close to shore, the sea was choppy and the foam flew when I set full speed ahead and coursed through the waves.
The Firth of Clyde is a wide stretch of water and the wind picks up speed as it sweeps down over the bare hills to the west. The farther out I went, the rougher the sea became and I had to work hard at the rudder to prevent waves breaking in over the rail.
As I approached the Valkyrie I could see the crew lowering the topsails. Then the vessel changed tack and the foresails came down in one sweep. It was a neat manoeuvre. 430
The vessel sailed on with her mainsail, headsail and mizzen. I guessed she was making for Greenock or Dumbarton, to wait there for a pilot and tugboats.
I was soon no more than sixty yards or so from the Valkyrie. At that distance, I could see that the vessel had been at sea too long. Far too long. The worn sails were crisscrossed with patches and the planking, grey and weather beaten, had taken a battering from the ice.
None of the crew paid any attention to my small boat at first. They were all busy furling the sails and preparing to drop anchor. But when I steered in along the lee side of the Valkyrie, one of the sailors suddenly stopped and began staring in my direction. A low winter sun was peeping through between the clouds and he had to shade his eyes to see better. I raised my arm and waved.
It took a few seconds, but then the sailor pointed at me and yelled to his fellows. One by one his bearded and tousled shipmates joined him. They laughed and waved heartily, as if I was an old acquaintance.
The mate on watch had noticed me, too, and I saw him hurry below deck through the after hatch. Less than half a minute later he returned.
Behind him came the Chief, smoke curling from a cigar in the corner of his mouth! 431
I recognized him at once even though, like everyone else on board, he now had a beard. The mate pointed in my direction and, on catching sight of me, the cigar fell from the Chief’s mouth. After staring at me for a couple more seconds as if to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, he pulled off his cap and threw it up in the air. The wind carried his shout of joy to me.
I held up my own cap and waved back.
The Valkyrie sailed on at a good speed and I didn’t want to delay the Chief by having him heave to just to take me on board. I had no doubt his crew was longing to get ashore. They had all been away the whole winter. And I’d be seeing the Chief soon enough, anyway.
So, after sailing alongside the Valkyrie for a short distance towards the mouth of the River Clyde, I waved farewell and headed back for Gourock.
The wind and waves were with me now and the launch surfed on the crests or swooped through the troughs of the waves. The pale, low winter sun shone on my face.
My overalls were soaking wet, but strangely enough I don’t remember feeling cold. Not at all, in fact.
And for the first time in many months I felt truly at peace.