Boon Island - Kenneth Roberts [119]
All I could think of was Langman, meatless, staring out from the darkness with hard and hating eyes, and once I thought I felt Chips Bullock behind me, a little stooped, his head lowered, laughing that silent, belly-shaking laugh of his at Langman, Mellen and White.
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December 29th, Friday
Boon Island taught me the danger of trusting those who at any time have lied about their reasons for doing things. It taught me, too, that no man should ever say, "I'll never do this," or "I'll never do that," or should ever affirm, "Nothing could persuade me to do this; nothing could make me do that."
Never, Langman had sworn, would he eat human flesh. It was sinful, it was unlawful, it was repugnant to all the dictates of his conscience. He had implied that the eating of any human flesh was heinous, but that to eat the flesh of a friend was worse: was obscene, infamous, abominableand somehow he had persuaded White and Mellen that such a specious argument was worthy of consideration.
The wind had threatened us by backing up on Thursday. On Friday that threat materialized. Shortly after midnight a mixture of snow and rain from the southwest slatted against the tent; driblets of water trickled down upon us, first from one spot and then from another.
Even before daybreak the men, restless, were demanding meat. The snow and the rain, they said, might damage
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it, freeze it, ruin it. It should be brought out and distributed.
"You'll get your meat," Captain Dean assured them, "but I made up my mind to something yesterday, when able-bodied men lay here and wouldn't lift a hand to do the necessary work to provide the meat because they pretended to be too weak: then ate with the strength of wolves. This is what I decided. If they've got the strength to eat meat, they had the strength, yesterday, to help me cut it up. They wouldn't do it! I'm sick of people who won't help themselves."
Nobody said anything.
"So," Captain Dean said, "let's see where we stand. Swede is gone and Harry Hallion with him. Cooky Sipper is gone. Chips Bullock is gone. Mr. Langman's conscience won't let him eat human flesh. Neither will White's nor Mellen's.
"That leaves seven of us. All seven will draw a reasonable ration of meat this morning, but each one of us must do something in return, and that's pick enough oakum to thatch this tent.
"That means Saver and Graystock will pick oakum or get no meat. It means my brother will pick oakum, even though he does have epileptic fits once in a while. It means I'll pick oakum, Mr. Whitworth will pick oakum. So will Neal Butler and Christopher Gray. Is that understood?"
"Just give us the meat," Graystock said.
"That's not enough," Captain Dean said. "I want your promises, made in the hearing of all in this tent. Each one of you must swear that if he eats meat, he'll pick oakum as long as he can move his hands. Saver, do you solemnly swear you'll pick oakum with the rest of us?"
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Saver said he did, as did Graystock and the other four of us.
"All right," Captain Dean said. "I expect every one of you to live up to your promises. If you don't, I'll take steps."
He went to the tent-flap, hit it with his fist to clear it of snow and ice and peered out into the storm.
Langman got to his feet and moved close to the captain. "Captain," he said, "we've changed our minds about the beef."
The captain looked at him incredulously. "You mean to say you and White and Mellen changed your minds? It's not a sin to eat this beef?"
"No," Langman said. "It's not a sin to eat beef. When we understood it was beef, we saw we'd made a mistake."
Captain Dean shook his head. "But only last night your consciences were bothering you! How did you persuade your consciences to accept this as beef?"
"Why," Langman said, "we just told our consciences